AntiHyphen
by The Gray Maze
Summary: The watchful eyes of the adoring public are locked on to the girl-who-lived-to-be-frustrated-by-society rather than where they ought to be: on her scheming twin brother. Slytherin!Harry, no Potter favoritism, no particular romance
1. The Public's Chosen And the Other Half

**Advisory Whatever:** This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. _It has: _Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.

**CHAPTER 01 - The Public's Chosen and the Other Half**

Impatience was widely present in the Great Hall of Hogwarts that September evening.

"Patil, Padma!"

The fact that McGonagall was in the _P_ section of the list (finally!) was only adding to the tension.

"Patil, Parvati!"

She found it sad, rather than appealing, as she looked all around at those shining faces. Many students were biting their lips, tapping their feet, tapping their eating utensils, and whatever other kinds of fidgeting they could think to do.

"Perks, Sally-Anne!"

They were all on the edge of their seats like this was some kind of show. She knew what they were waiting for. She could hear the whisper of the name Potter in every direction.

"Potter, Camellia!"

The silence was killed in an instant, replaced by the harsh drone of many people whispering at once. It was a difficult thing for her to suppress a grimace, but she managed when she felt a familiar touch on her elbow. Her expression twitched into a small smile that apparently dazzled the people around her, for they gaped at her like she was a saint. Her gaze flickered briefly to the bespectacled boy behind her. His face was calm and encouraging. She took a step forward amidst the eager leers.

"The-Girl-Who-Lived!" She heard from one side.

"She's so pretty. Look at her eyes! They're so green!" She heard from the other.

It was a small stroke of luck that the remaining crowd parted easily to let her approach the old sorting hat. She couldn't go as far as saying it was polite, since they were still staring and whispering like idiots. She sat on the stool and looked straight ahead at her still waiting future classmates until darkness enveloped her.

"You're a very bitter young lady," the hat began. "Have you tried making friends?"

"I have my brother and my books," she responded promptly. "Whether I make any more during my schooling here depends on how many people act stupidly around me."

"I see you are mostly your mother's daughter!" the hat exclaimed dryly. "If it weren't for your love of flying I would have wondered if James had any say in your upbringing at all."

"He had plenty," she said. "It's just that mum's lessons tended to stick a little more."

"Humph. You have her brain and lack of social skills," he remarked. "In another world anyone would have pegged you for a Ravenclaw."

"And in this world?" she asked; she didn't bother bringing up the fact that her mother was in Gryffindor.

"Where do you think?" the hat asked in return.

"I think I should go to the House that will complement me best," she determined smartly.

There was a brief spell of silence before the hat began to chuckle in a way that irritated her.

"The House that will benefit you most would be… GRYFFINDOR!"

Cheers erupted from most of the school. The deluge of clapping sounded like a stampede and if it weren't for the castle enchantments the floor would probably be rumbling. Camellia gripped the stool hard enough to strain her knuckles.

She choked, "_Excuse_ me!?"

"Perhaps they will teach you how to socialize, little misanthrope!" the hat cackled.

She somehow managed to stop spluttering by the time the hat was removed from her head. Noticing that the crest on her robe now bore a rearing lion, she reluctantly stood and made her way to the red and gold strewn table, where she was greeted a little too enthusiastically for her liking. She hadn't been mobbed by more than three people at a time since that incident in Eturn Alley seven years ago. The smiling faces made her antsy.

"Where do you live?"

"Did you really fight a dragon when you were six?"

"Why do you keep your hair so short? It'd look lovely long."

"Welcome to Gryffindor!"

"We got Potter! We got Potter!"

It made her head spin as she tried to grasp who was speaking and when. Then she realized that everyone was speaking at once.

"Somewhere you'll hopefully never find me. No. I hate long hair. Thank you, I suppose. Yes, somehow, you do…"

Annoyingly, it seemed that the sorting was paused for a moment to let everyone get a good ogle in on her, the adults at the Head Table included. They were all staring at her with a variety of expressions. Several were pleased, several were distasteful, several were dispassionate, and one, the Headmaster's, was almost obnoxiously happy. She found the attention unsettling and more than a little overwhelming.

"Potter, Harry!"

Finally, McGonagall continued, and her older twin brother made his way to the stool. There were whispers again, but she noted enviously that they weren't as prolific. Harry plopped down on the stool, which must be stronger than its appearance suggested, for it didn't move an inch under his aggressive seating. There was a pleasant smile on his face as the hat was dropped onto his head.

"Hey, what's your brother like?" a redheaded boy asked her.

"He's seems nicer than me," she answered neutrally.

He looked confounded. "But don't you live with him? Shouldn't you know?"

People began muttering impatiently; it wasn't the eager impatience they had set aside for her either. At least five minutes had gone with Harry hidden under that ratty brim. Camellia toyed with her fork while she waited. The polished golden dishes were still empty. Despite the atmosphere, she was looking forward to dinner. Both of her parents had agreed: Hogwarts had amazing food.

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat announced, finally.

"Oh Merlin, he must be evil!" the redhead declared, horrified.

She fixed him with an incredulous look, unable to tell if he was being serious or not. "Where did that come from?" she demanded.

It was true enough, but that didn't mean someone should accuse him of it without justification.

"He's in _Slytherin_!" the boy stage whispered.

She was about to gear up for a rant about typecasting, but was beaten to it by a frizzy haired brunette with large frontal teeth.

"Oh _please_, like you can claim that an eleven year old is evil just because of his dorm placement!" she brushed off haughtily. "I suppose you're brave and noble just because you're wearing red?"

The boy's ears turned that very color. "Who are you supposed to be anyway?" he asked angrily.

The girl sniffed. "Hermione Granger," she said. "And _you_ are?"

"Ron Weasley," he said proudly.

Camellia just wished the food would hurry up already. It was a good thing no one else particularly wanted to have a long chat with the hat, for that was no doubt what Harry had been doing. He was probably pegged for Slytherin the moment the fabric touched his hair. The sorting finished off with a dark skinned boy named Zabini and Dumbledore's nonsensical announcement. Dinner finally arrived after that.

People were promptly ignored.

**-()_()_()-**

_Dear Parents,_

_ I was sorted into Gryffindor because even though I had the brains for Ravenclaw, I apparently needed the social skills that allegedly only Gryffindor could teach me. I feel like I was cheated and that the sorting must have been rigged because I refuse to believe that an enchanted ancient artifact was sentient enough to pull one over on me._

_ Harry was sorted into Slytherin, like any of us thought otherwise. Somehow, due to this, several people of questionable intelligence have declared that he is evil, unloved, and wants revenge on me for being the subject of adoration from all directions. I resent the opinion that he was unloved and believe they can find out for themselves just how evil Harry is if they're going to behave like that, along with just how much I appreciate their overbearing adoration._

_ This is going to be a trial. Dad, I still don't forgive you for pushing to send us to your old school. Harry and I were learning fine under mum and Remus. I wanted to be home taught and already miss my cat. I hope you're happy._

_Love, Camellia_

She put the quill away and blew on the ink, urging it to dry faster so that she could hide it away until morning. There was an irritating amount of giggling going on beyond the wall of red curtains cutting her off from her three roommates. She didn't trust them one bit.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione Granger announced. "I want to get up early just in case I get lost."

Yes, bed. It was a good idea. It would make the giggling stop. She decided to pile her weight on that declaration, figuring the Girl-Who-Lived nonsense might give her an excuse for at least some of her actions. It'd better, considering what she was predicting she would have to go through because of it.

"I'm tired as well," she said curtly.

She shoved the letter in her end table drawer and rolled into her scarlet bedcovers, intending to pass out and not have to listen to any more strange laughter. It was a good idea in theory, but she didn't know how well she'd sleep without four walls and a lock keeping everyone away from her.

**-()_()_()-**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_ Made Slytherin like I know you thought I would. Somehow Mell got into Gryffindor, but the Sorting Hat was an interesting fellow so he might have done it for laughs. Merlin knows he must be bored the rest of the year. So I sat and talked to him for a few minutes. I think I made a few people angry by postponing dinner to hear about Slytherin and Gryffindor's dramatic brawl over the last orange in Hufflepuff's fruit bowl. Ravenclaw won of course. I really wanted to hear the story behind the enchanted ceiling, but the hat told me it was a long one. He wants to talk again sometime. Apparently I made him whimsical because I remind him of how Slytherin was before he went mad and starting killing things. He didn't tell me why he went mad. I'm hoping that I can find out at some point during my schooling. It wasn't in Hogwarts: A History._

_ I think this year will be interesting. I don't think I've ever been surrounded by so many people. I don't know who to start with. By the way, Dumbledore said something interesting. Do you know anything about the third floor? He told us all we'd die painfully if we went there. It's making me curious. Like the time that you told me to stay away from the stream in the middle of our forest, remember, when I was almost drowned by the naiad there after going anyway._

_ I'll keep an eye on Mell. I know you're going to ask me to. I can't really guarantee I can help her make friends though. The students' reactions to her must have made her clam up. They practically pounced on her. I wonder if they'll back off once they find out how cold she can be._

_Harry _

He stretched after finishing his letter and moved away from his desk. Unlike his sister, he didn't need to worry about nosy roommates. He had none. Slytherin, being the paranoid man he was, had chosen the dungeons for their space and built his House to give each of his students their own room. Hogwarts would make the rooms available after the sorting to make sure there were no extra ones sitting around and the house elves were only allowed in at the beginning of each term to deposit the luggage. Even their Head of House could only get in when the doors were unlocked. Harry was very good about locking doors, considering who he grew up around.

It was very convenient for someone who would, eventually, have a number of things to hide.

Harry hummed merrily, gesturing the lights off, and removed his glasses on the way to the green canopied bed. The room was very bare, as it was up to the student to decorate as they pleased, but for now he was heading to sleep. It was better to be well-rested to make a good second impression to make up for putting off dinner by five minutes. Some people would need a good third impression or even a fourth. It didn't matter. There were a number of things he was willing to do to achieve his life goal. His mother always had emphasized tenacity. It was a good trait for those that bothered to use it appropriately, she claimed. Harry tended to take his mother's word on things. She always knew what she was talking about.

Harry slid under the sheets after placing his glasses on the end table. The bed was very comfortable. He preferred his hammock, still, but there was no reason he couldn't put one up somewhere around to school to lounge in when he felt the urge. The Forbidden Forest had a large number of trees that were both sturdy and close together that would be ideal. Harry made a mental note to add a post-script to his letter in the morning, to request a few of the things he hadn't bothered to pack.

He spared a thought to his twin, who was no doubt flopping around in frustration, and grinned. There was no question of who had the better deal. Mell was going to have to get used to being around people if she wanted to keep her relative sanity intact. The Gryffindors shared rooms. It was most likely not helping her at all. He laughed quietly before falling asleep, fading into wild dreams of feathers and spellfire.


	2. Collection Starter

**CHAPTER 02 - Collection Starter**

It was a few days into the new term that her quiet morning routine was, for the first time, interrupted. Camellia was up for perhaps ten minutes when she was approached by a nervous looking Hermione Granger. She finished knotting her tie before acknowledging her. Granger always looked less than stellar lately, so her feeble expression was nothing surprising. She gave the girl an expectant look.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

Granger's question caught her off guard. "Do you hate me?"

She gave the brunette a flat look, having no doubt that the show of low self-esteem was the direct result of having most if not all of her housemates outright belittle her when they weren't going off behind her back with their plaintive whispers.

"I have never spoken about you, whether good or ill, the whole time we've been here," Camellia informed her.

Granger wrung her hands. "I know. You haven't really spoken about anyone. Or to anyone. That's why I was wondering. Everyone else _hates me_."

Camellia sighed and glanced over at the other two beds in the room. The curtains were still drawn shut and would remain like so for the next forty minutes. Patil and Brown tended to stay up late and sleep in until the last half hour of breakfast. She herself would actually prefer to sit and read before classes began that day, as early breakfast was the only time that she could do so in peace. With that in mind, she brushed by the other girl.

"I don't _dis_like you, specifically," she remarked, exiting.

She didn't bother to stick around for a response.

**-()_()_()-**

Professor Snape was the melodramatic sort, in Harry's humble opinion. His sudden entrance once all the students were seated was the first clue. The fact that he actually slammed the door open hard enough for it to bounce loudly off of the wall was the second. Then he had to swoop in with his pitch black cloak billowing behind him and Harry had trouble keeping himself from laughing. The dour looking man was like a fictional villain; if he went as far as giving an intimidating speech, Harry felt he would crack a rib. His parents had spoken of Severus Snape of course. Snape had been good friends with the young Lily Evans, who had been a sweet and gentle girl-as far as the world was concerned-until her fifth year. Then he made her angry and she went out of her way to nurse her grudge and show him up everywhere. His father had nothing concrete to say. He was too busy musing whimsically about all of the nasty tricks his band of Marauders played.

Harry didn't miss the odd look that Snape shot at his sister when he came to her name on the roll call, or the very dirty one that he received. The scroll was put away and Snape approached the class again.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making."

Harry felt his shoulders quiver and bit his tongue. He had to remember second impressions. He stared at the blackboard in front of him. It was blank, which meant that Snape was probably going to add it to his act. He kept half an ear tuned in on his professor's words, but tried not to focus overly much. He had the strongest feeling that snickering would be frowned upon.

"—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Very even and almost obsessively precise handwriting filled the blackboard when Snape flicked his wand at it. Harry felt that such an action went against Snape's declaration that there would be no foolish wand waving in his classroom. Regardless, he looked over to Blaise Zabini, who was sitting next to him, and offered to get the ingredients. The hazel eyed boy simply nodded disinterestedly. Harry smiled and stood. He slipped easily through the crows bustling around the storage cabinet. There were a number of things his small stature was good for. He returned shortly with the tray of snake fangs, dried nettles, and other assorted things.

"I'll crush the fangs," Zabini said; he took them without awaiting a response.

Harry didn't feel any need to protest after seeing how good the other boy seemed to be at it. He weighed the nettles and set their cauldron alight to boil the fire slug fluids. He smiled when he looked down at the porcupine quills laid out in front of them.

"If you add the quills before turning off the flame, it'll make a poison to cause boils," Harry commented.

Zabini raised an eyebrow, but didn't look over. The fangs were mostly a fine powder now.

"Only, it needs to be made in a lead cauldron. It'll melt pewter and burn through a lot of woods and fabrics."

Lead was good for brewing poisonous things while pewter was for general use. The cauldrons made of pewter had traces of lead in them, but it wasn't nearly enough to sustain the moderate to powerful poisons.

"So it's nasty?" Zabini asked.

"Oh yes, very," Harry nodded.

Zabini smirked very faintly and held out the snake fangs. "I see."

Harry stirred them in deftly. "It helps to have a Potions Master as a mother, I suppose."

"Not Mistress?" Zabini questioned.

Harry shrugged. "She said that the term _mistress_ was one for a seductress and didn't suit her."

"I see," Zabini nodded slowly, as if considering that.

There was a lull of quiet between them wherein Zabini started measuring other ingredients and Harry carefully stirred.

"What else can this potion do?" Zabini eventually asked.

"If you brew in lead and add the snake fangs before the rolling boil and divide the quills to add both before and after killing the fire, it'll melt more than just wood and fabric," he mused as he added the nettle. "Mum actually melted her partner's thumb off in her sixth year. Didn't like the bloke, you see."

Zabini looked vaguely pleased and Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back. It had been his thought that the son of the notorious Black Widow would be interested in deadly things, but there was the chance that he was wrong. His instincts pulled through for him again.

"Other potions," Zabini intoned; it was only the slight inflection in his voice that gave it away as a demand.

"Almost everything can be altered into something deadly depending on timing and cauldron material!" Harry enthused. "For instance…" he trailed off when Snape swooped down on them.

The man looked rather displeased at the perfect rose madder coloration of their potion and sneered. He stormed off to harass one of the Gryffindor girls. Zabini looked mildly irritated at the interruption. He turned the heat off and added the quills before turning back to Harry.

"Narration," Zabini insisted.

Harry beamed at him. "Of course!"

**-()_()_()-**

Camellia frowned at the potion in front of her, which was very close to red madder and would be there shortly. Hermione gave her a questioning look.

"Is something wrong with it?" she asked.

"It would be stronger brewed in silver," Camellia told her. "That is not the issue. There's no way a group of eleven year olds would be allowed that. No; I'm getting a bad feeling."

Hermione was waiting for elaboration, but she was not in a generous mood. The feeling of foreboding likely had something to do with her brother on the other side of the room. He was working with Zabini, the one who had been the last sorted. She vaguely recalled something about the Zabini family, but couldn't remember what. Harry no doubt knew. That was probably why he was getting friendly with the boy. She idly switched the heat off and let Hermione drop the quills in, though she did help with the bottling. They had just capped the last of ten when a loud hiss echoed around the classroom.

"Get your feet up on your stool," she ordered her partner coolly.

Hermione gave her a befuddled look but obeyed; the expression turned to surprise and mild horror when she saw the reason why. Neville Longbottom was clouded in bright green smog and breaking out in boils. His desk and clothes were melting. Camellia watched dispassionately as her mother's godson was berated by Snape. Neville was awful at brewing despite the tutors he had over the years. It was nothing new.

"Oh that's awful." Hermione whispered.

Snape rounded on one of the other boys for Neville's mistake and docked twenty points from Gryffindor; several protested until they were hushed by a glare. The professor cleared the floor with a spell.

"Back to work!" he snapped.

Camellia dropped back into her seat and began labeling the cooling vials. Hermione meekly followed suit. Unsurprisingly, there were no more mishaps. Everyone was intimidated by Snape's sour personality. Her classmates turned their work in and made a beeline for the door once the bell rang.

"Camellia! Please wait?"

She slowed to a stop in the middle of the hallway but didn't turn to face her until they were side by side.

"Thank you," Hermione sighed.

"Do you need something?"

Hermione worried her bottom lip. It reminded her somewhat of the squirrels that scurried around her home. This startled her, as she was actually fond of the little creatures.

"Would you like to study with me?" Hermione blurted. "It gets lonely by myself and… and you said that you didn't dislike me! Everyone else does so…" she trailed off, looking a little frightened.

Camellia sighed, figured that she would at least get some reading done, and nodded. The brightness of Hermione's responding grin nearly blinded her.

"That's great! That's really great. Um, is the library alright?"

"That is generally where people go to study," Camellia said dryly, already moving.

Hermione laughed nervously and scurried to catch up again. She had a heavy bag full of books that bounced frequently off of her hip. Camellia couldn't imagine that it was comfortable, judging by how the strap dug into her shoulder.

"Do you want to work on the Transfiguration essay?" Hermione asked.

"That's fine."

"I've been through a lot of the books they have on Transfiguration!" Hermione told her. "I'm not sure I understand a lot of it just yet, but I'm doing my best. I'm a bit nervous about going to ask Professor McGonagall though. I know she said to go to her with any questions… it's just." She flushed. "She's my favorite professor of all of them so far. What about you?"

"I prefer my mother's teaching to anyone's," she replied. "I doubt anyone here can change that."

"Oh," Hermione looked thoughtful. "What does she do?"

"Brews and sells potions, experiments, writes..." Camellia shrugged.

"So that's why you knew to get out of the way today? When Neville melted his cauldron?"

She nodded briefly and pushed through the library doors open without stopping. She debated whether to tell Hermione more of her personal life, as the thought of doing so made her uncomfortable, but the girl's little questions were not overly personal so she wasn't feeling any particular need to brush her off. Thus far none of the queries strayed to the events of Halloween ten years ago, stunningly. She wondered if Hermione was so desperate for company that she was walking on eggshells trying to not risk offending her.

"Oh, let's see…"

The brunette was practically flying shelf to shelf, grabbing books. Camellia couldn't help but raise an eyebrow upon seeing her return with a stack of seven.

"The essay only needs to be a foot long," she commented.

Hermione looked sheepish. "I know. It's just that I like to be thorough and cross reference everything. My essays always end up double what was asked for."

Camellia shrugged. "I guess some teachers won't mind. It's more for them to read through and grade though. Snape would probably mark you off."

Showing a surprising amount of arm strength, Hermione carried the pile of thick books to a nearby table and set them down neatly.

"I suppose he would," she sighed.

They both sat and pulled out their writing materials.

"Let's begin, then."

Camellia had the feeling that working with Hermione would be different than working with Harry.

**-()_()_()-**

_Dear Harry,_

_ I'm writing to you first since you actually seem happy about your situation. I feel like it'll be easier to write to you than Camellia, who was a little petulant in her own letter. I do ask that you look out for her at least just enough to keep her out of trouble and make sure that she doesn't get frustrated enough to skip class. She'll make friends in her own time. I know that I have kept the two of you almost completely isolated from the outside world ever since we were mobbed in Eturn and that reintegrating into a society you were never allowed to become comfortable with in the first place may be difficult at first, but I am confident that you both will manage._

_ With that out of the way: Congratulations! We did all suspect that we had a little serpent among us. Please ignore your father fake-sobbing in the background. I'm sure that you will flourish in Slytherin, unlike many of its past and current members. Please use some of that cleverness that the House is alleged to covet and refrain from exploring dangerous territory blindly. I want a promise on that one. Tell your sister as well. I will send your stuff later with one of the crows after I finish my current project. _

_Speaking of which, I hope you remember to thank Hagrid for sending Hedwig as a birthday gift to you and Camellia. She is a very beautiful and intelligent owl and I'd hate to think I raised you without manners. _

_Love,  
>Lily<em>

Harry folded the letter up and, after a thought, lit it on fire. He grinned as he watched it burn. It wasn't anything against his mother, as any onlooker would have perhaps assumed. It was just to get in the habit of destroying evidence for future endeavors. Discretion was the better part of valor, his mother preached; his father disagreed but that was neither here nor there. Harry ran a hand through his unkempt hair and decided to head for the hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hedwig _had_ been a surprising and very welcome gift. The man who sent her should be thanked appropriately. Harry was honestly a little embarrassed that he didn't think to do so on his own. He shrugged it off. It was better late than never, wasn't it? If it came down to it, he could simply claim that he hadn't any free time until now. Harry breezed past the willow trees that were draped over the lake bed, where the giant squid was waving its long arms in the air. There were several groups of students staring at it in awe. Harry smiled at the sight, but didn't pause on his way to the Groundskeeper. He skipped up the clumsy stone steps and knocked on the door. Excited barking immediately answered.

"Enough, Fang. Back! Back!"

A bearded giant of a man opened the large wooden door. Harry blinked up at him. The man, who Harry was sure was Hagrid, gave him a long once over.

"Blimey," he whispered. "Harry Potter?"

Harry smiled in greeting. "I am," he agreed.

Hagrid laughed merrily. It was a great, booming sound.

"Harry! You was only a baby las' time I saw yeh!" He ushered him in. "Make yerself at home, Harry. What brings yeh all the way down here?"

"Well I wanted to thank you for sending Hedwig over to us," Harry told him. "She's brilliant and fits right in."

"Hedwig, eh? Now there's a good name. I saw 'er in the shop and thought I had ter buy 'er. Beautiful bird. Beautiful. Thought o' Lily Potter the moment I saw 'er, though she don't look nothing like Lily in color, 'course."

"I think I a red feathered, green eyed owl would have a little trouble hunting," Harry remarked.

Hagrid's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Yer right there," he agreed. "And yer very welcome. Least I could do fer the kids of some old friends. How's everyone been?"

Since Hagrid did say to make himself at home, Harry figured that it wouldn't be rude to take a seat. He found that the apparently homemade chairs were very sturdy. He supposed they had to be to support Hagrid's girth.

"Mum's been brewing potions. She sells them sometimes. Though she says she would have more jobs if she worked at a hospital, she prefers to stay home. Dad's still working as an auror, though he tries to stay away from any public cases if he can help it. They don't want to get mobbed again so they keep low profiles." Harry paused to see if there was anything specific Hagrid wanted to know.

"Mobbed?" he prompted.

"It happened seven years ago. We were wandering around Diagon and Eturn for our birthdays—Mell's and mine, I mean—and a whole group of people came out of nowhere and swarmed us. They kept picking Mell up and tossing her around praising her. It scared her and mum got so angry that she decided to stay away from the public for awhile. She didn't want us raised under that kind of pressure."

"So tha's why…" Hagrid looked thoughtful and a little sad. "No wonder Lily and James went ter ground. How's yer sister?"

Harry's lips twitched in amusement. "She's doing well enough, all things considered. Mell's shy, so Gryffindor is a little boisterous for her now, but I'm sure the hat put her there for a reason."

"Hat knows what he's doin' I'm sure," Hagrid nodded.

Harry watched the man bustle around the stove to set up a pot of tea for awhile before his gaze began to wander. It was a two roomed hut, it seemed. The one he was in had a stove, bed, and dresser. He supposed behind the other door was a toilet. It was a very frugal house, but very cozy. A bit of a contrast to the home he grew up in. Harry reached down to pet Fang, who had draped himself over his feet. Hagrid poured him a cup of tea.

"Mixed it all myself!" He said proudly.

Harry amused himself blowing away the steam until he deemed the drink cool enough to consume.

"Do you have other pets besides Fang?" Harry asked politely.

Hagrid lit up, so Harry assumed that he had hit the right conversation track.

"Some chickens and roosters 'round back, but not much room for else," Hagrid told him. "I'd like a dragon though. Great beasts, dragons."

"I know what you mean. It's a shame there are so many restrictions on having them," Harry lamented.

"Yeh like dragon's, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

"Oh yes, all sorts of creatures. There's a forest at home that Mell and I played in a lot. Lots of fairies and puffskeins in the lighter areas, but mum let us play with the rock dolls once we got a little older. I was so glad to hear that Hogwarts was right next to a forest as well. I'm honestly a bit disappointed that I won't be allowed in it."

Well not being allowed wasn't exactly going to _stop _him from going in when he got the chance. He had made a second home for himself outdoors and didn't intend to coop himself up just to play by the rules. The Forbidden Forest had a completely different aura from Gaea's Mane. It was ominous, mysterious, and sultry rather than wizened and homely; Harry was itching to check it out.

"There are 'ceptions," Hagrid allowed.

Harry leaned forward. "Really?"

"Six 'n seventh years get plants for potions there. Younger years can go in for certain reasons s'long as they got a teacher with 'em."

"I'd like to take a look around sometime," Harry pressed.

He put on his most earnest face and was pleased to see Hagrid caving.

"Maybe I can show yeh 'round then when I get the chance."

Victory! He wondered if there were more dangerous beasts here. Maybe not a nundu but he wouldn't mind seeing a chimera or something similar.

"What kinds of creatures live in the Forbidden Forest?" he wondered.

"Well…"

The conversation continued in that vein for another hour at least.

**-()_()_()-**

Harry hummed in the privacy of his room. It was a cheerful, upbeat tune that directly complemented his mood. He had started off on the right foot with Blaise Zabini by displaying some knowledge of poisons and hit it off with Hagrid due to a mutual interest in dangerous beasts. It wasn't bad for the first week. Harry rummaged around his books for a moment before hitting a hidden notch in his trunk to open a secret compartment. There was a gleaming mahogany box and a folded silver cloak neatly pressed inside. He removed the cloak and shook it out.

"Still a bit big for me." Harry mused.

Regardless, he swung it around his shoulders and pulled up the hood. His reflection in the mirror vanished. Harry kicked off his shoes and shoved them against the wall. He was left standing in a pair of thick black socks, which he quickly covered with the cloak's hem. His dad had told him that he had nearly been caught several times in his first and second year because of his footsteps until he learned the silencing charm. Well, Harry didn't have that down yet either so he was going to have to make do with simply walking quietly. He checked the time—one o' clock—and slipped out of his room, locking the door behind him. The hallway was cold, naturally, since the Slytherin rooms were in the dungeons, and the chill seeped easily into Harry's feet. He didn't mind the sensation any more than he minded the feeling of running barefoot across twigs and spiny leaves. He made his way down the hall and up the stairs that led into the common room. The fire was still roaring, doing it's best to chase away the cool night air, but there was no one else around to feel it. Harry ambled by and exited the room. Now he just needed to dodge any patrolling professors and make it up the moving staircases and back before anyone took note of his absence. It wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be. There weren't many people around. He passed by several ghosts, but they weren't overly alert.

He skipped up the stairs two at a time, astutely avoiding the trick step, and made it to the third floor with no one the wiser. Encouraged by his success, he headed for the right side of the hall and looked around. For the most part all he found were abandoned classrooms. Hogwarts used to be a bit larger, but there were less children being born and so the school population suffered. Harry wasn't surprised to see the dust addled rooms. He exited the next to last of them and tried the one at the end of the hall. It was locked. Harry spared a quick look around before hitting it with a basic unlocking charm and slipping in. He was a little disappointed about how easy it was. Now… to see what was so dangerous—Harry stopped just a foot shy of three very large heads and his breath caught in his throat. The room vibrated with each warning growl that emanated from the beast. He noticed that the chains holding it back were pulled taut. He was literally just inches outside of the danger zone.

"_Hellhound_…" he breathed.

The growls turned into full angry barking that made his ears ring. It was huge, each head being about as wide as he was tall (though he admittedly was the shortest in his class). All three pairs of eyes were a glowing, fiery yellow that made him think of flames and torment. If there was a hellhound then there was something here that was worth protecting. Though, Harry mused, it was keeping people out rather than keeping them in, unlike Cerberus. If he reached out he would be able to touch it. The thought made him feel giddy, but he restrained himself. Those teeth looked like the top of Hagrid's pickaxe. Reluctantly Harry backed away and left the room, though he stood on the verge of the threshold for a moment longer, admiring. Then he closed the door and relocked it.

He got to see a hellhound.

He practically raced back to his room to grab his quill and parchment.

**-()_()_()-**

_Mum, Dad_

_I know you said we have plenty of pets already, but I just saw something amazing. Like you said, mum, I didn't go out and explore blindly. I just did a little scouting. There's a hellhound on the third floor, mum, a hellhound! We don't have any dogs yet. Mell has her cat, and mum you have your crows, dad has a puffskein. I know I have Hedwig, but I share her with Mell. I don't have one of my own. Can I have a hellhound?_

Lily put the letter down with an exasperated shake of the head. Internally she was glad to see that Harry was still a child at heart despite his unexpected ambitions, but she wasn't sure about getting another pet, let alone a gigantic three headed one. She leaned back and sipped at her mug of chamomile tea, hoping that the calming properties would help her out a little here. James had been of no assistance. He was just a man-child himself so of course he was interested in the idea of another pet. Well, she would have to dig out her old Care of Magical Creatures books and show him just how large hellhounds could get in order to make sure that he knew he wouldn't be able to toss one in the air like his puffskein. As if sensing her thoughts, the little yellow creature appeared with a squeak.

"Good morning, Huffy, " she greeted.

He purred in pleasure when she picked him up. Lily idly began to fling him up and catch him as though he were a hand ball. Her mind wandered back to her older child. In the end she couldn't help but smile. He did love animals. She looked out of the kitchen window at all the green, brown, and more green. Their forested yard had served as an expansive, and sometimes dangerous, playground for her two children. Lily's eyes returned to the sheet of parchment on the table. Harry's handwriting became neater halfway through where she supposed he regained his wits. She skipped to that.

_All that potions tutoring you gave us came in handy today. Especially the deviating lessons on how to turn the average potion into a nasty poison. I didn't do it in class today, of course, but Blaise Zabini was interested when I started rattling off what could be done with the boil curing potion. I think I've started off well with him. Oh, and I did visit Hagrid soon after class. He knows a lot about magical creatures and beasts. I wonder if the hellhound upstairs is his. He offered to take me into the Forbidden Forest sometime. I'm looking forward to it._

_I haven't spent a lot of time with Mell this week. Hopefully this weekend I can get together with her. From what I've seen she's made a tentative friendship with Hermione Granger, a muggleborn in our year. I don't know if she's written you yet, but I doubt it since Hedwig was looking bored and antsy when I went to the owlry this morning. Granger is a bit of an outcast for being very studious. I can't help but wonder if Mell chose her in order to keep people away. Well, I have some things I want to do today. Maybe I'll catch Mell at breakfast._

_Harry_

"Hmmm…"

Lily put Huffy down and took her empty mug to the sink. She didn't bother to spell it clean, figuring she'd wait until after breakfast and just do everything at once. James stumbled into the room looking a little more refreshed than he had when he just woke up. He yawned and tightened the belt around his bathrobe.

"The same letter from earlier?" he asked.

"Mmhmm."

"Cosima Zabini's third husband is ill, you know," James remarked. "Heard that around the office. There's actually a betting pool running on how long it'll be until he kicks it."

"And what did you bet?" Lily wondered.

"You know I don't like to drawn any attention to myself anymore, lest I face your wrath." He grinned.

Lily raised an eyebrow.

"Well, alright. I put a few galleons on December." He shrugged. "I can't be totally antisocial. That's just not in my nature."

Lily snorted and spun around to fix a meal for them both. Her long red braid swished behind her like a tail. She wondered if she should cut it. It was getting heavy.

"Write Harry back later. I don't want to have to write every response to them both."

James laughed and folded Harry's letter up.

"You just don't know what to say about getting him a dog," he accused her. "Admit it."

"I deny it." She said dryly. "And hellhounds cannot be compared to crups, James."

"If I find one for him I'm getting it," he told her playfully. "It's not like we don't have the room."

She sighed and shrugged. "As long as you can handle it."

Her children were so spoiled. All three of them.


	3. They Raised Them Left, Not Right

**CHAPTER 03 - They Raised Them Left, Not Right**

Camellia woke up at precisely five o' clock in the morning, as she always did, and immediately wondered how the day's flying lesson would go. She sighed and curled herself into a tight ball, feeling particularly reluctant to get out of bed. Though people were giving her a little more berth due to her friendship with the vastly unpopular Hermione Granger, her father's finesse on a broom was probably going to push everyone back in her face. They were probably going to prod and poke and beg her for tips. Eventually she groaned and rolled out of the covers to face the Friday. Flying lessons were in the morning and then Double Potions was in the afternoon. She shoved her curtains aside to see that Hermione was already up and ready. Her hair was tied back in a fluffy braid.

"Good morning," Hermione greeted softly.

"Morning…"

She ambled into the lavatory to clean herself up and then met Hermione in the common room. They headed to breakfast together.

"_Flying_!" Hermione exclaimed halfheartedly. "Flying on brooms. Honestly I don't really care for heights."

"It's not that bad. I… actually really like flying." Camellia admitted.

"I'm so worried that I'll fall." Hermione fretted.

"That's a legitimate worry with how old the school brooms are," she mused. "They've absorbed magic from many people and become semi-sentient. If you're nervous they'll mess with you."

The petrified look on her almost-friend's face was amusing.

"I'm a pretty good flyer, so if you fall I'll catch you," Camellia assured her. "My body is frail though, so I can only slow you down enough that you won't die."

The dark haired girl was a little perturbed at how easily she was teasing her fellow Gryffindor. The lighthearted jabs were things meant for family, not for a two-week acquaintance that didn't even know her middle name. They took their seats at their House table. Hermione looked a little queasy at the sight of the food, but Camellia descended on the fruit bowl with uncharacteristic fervor. There were oranges.

"Grip… dominant hand above the other and knees should be…"

Hermione was muttered random phrases from _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and various other how-to guides for flying. Camellia couldn't help but snort at the sight, particularly when Harry walked by and gave the impression that he was also entertained by her nervousness. Of course he would be. Years of playing games with his maniacal godfather nurtured a bit of a mean streak in her twin brother. Harry loved to see people flustered. He tapped Hermione's shoulder, causing her to jerk in surprise.

He grinned at her. "Eat an orange. It'll wake you up."

Harry left for his own table with a backwards wave. Hermione looked a little bewildered, but obediently took a fruit.

"Was that your brother?" she asked.

Camellia shrugged. "I guess so."

"I don't see you with him very often," Hermione commented. "Is it because you're in separate Houses?"

"He's busy," Camellia answered shortly. "He has more to do than I do."

She clawed the skin off of her orange and began peeling chunks away to shove in her mouth.

"They're sweet. Eat some," she ordered.

Hermione picked up a knife and began to neatly carve the skin away, slowly and carefully, and resumed her muttering.

**-()_()_()-**

Harry called the broom into his hand with total ease and was smug to note that he was one of the few. Even Draco Malfoy, who had been gloating all morning about his skill, took another two tries to get it. He turned his attention to Mell, who was loosely clutching hers while whispering something—probably tips—to her only friend. Hermione looked terrified. He wondered if she was afraid of heights or merely the thought of riding one of these frail looking brooms. They were old, the twigs were in disarray, and they were definitely not completely safe for beginners. Harry wondered where all of Hogwarts' funding was going if they couldn't afford to update something so simple. He made a mental note to ask his parents. Or perhaps Remus. As a werewolf constantly kicked around by the government, he knew a thing or two about who was up to what.

"Now mount your brooms!"

Madam Hooch, a tall and rail thin woman with birdlike yellow eyes, barked out instructions and swiftly corrected the grips and positions of assorted students. She had a shrewd look about her, as she eyed up the class for potential trouble makers.

"It's important that you grip tightly to ensure that you don't fall off the end," she told them. "It's one thing to slide off while you're on the ground. It's another entirely while you're in the air. So use your discretion, _please_, I don't have enough eyes to keep on all of you!"

She blew her whistle and everyone floated up to hover at varying heights. Harry kept inching higher. It'd been two weeks now since he had been on a broom and he was feeling a strong urge to tag his sister and start racing. He could tell just by looking at her that she was feeling the same, though she managed to stay close to Hermione, who was hyperventilating. Hooch stayed on the ground to observe. He supposed it was so that she could keep them in her sight range and be quicker to react if any of them lost control.

"Move when you feel comfortable enough to do so!" she shouted up at them. "These brooms will rebel if you're not confident!"

Harry felt completely confident. Enough to do a few loops and dives, even, but he refrained. It wouldn't do to be seen as a show-off. Remus always told him that it was the show-offs that always get shown-up in the end. He drifted around leisurely, wishing that the restrictions on first years bringing brooms didn't exist. Flying was a good activity for unwinding and one that he sorely missed. He sighed as he spaced out, just enjoying the feeling of wind in his hair.

**-()_()_()-**

Camellia didn't have the option of going into a daze like her older twin brother. Not when her clingy and terrified friend was clutching the broom like a lifeline. She coached her a bit, but Hermione was unwilling to move more than a few feet in any direction. She was getting a little frustrated.

"You're barely two meters off the ground!" she groused.

"I'm s-sorry!" Hermione keened. "I don't like heights. I don't like heights. I don't like heights."

She couldn't help but run a hand down her face in aggravation. She, at the age of eight, had not hesitated so much during her first flying lesson. Camellia shot a longing look to her inattentive brother that went completely unnoticed. Oh how she _envied_ him. He didn't have the stigma of being famous, he had inherited their father's social preferences, and _his_ friend wasn't hugging his broom in sheer fright. What she wouldn't give—

"Camellia!"

The rush of wind was unexpected, and she blinked in surprise, only to notice that she was staring upward at a cloudless blue sky. Her back hit the ground and knocked the air right out of her lungs. It hurt. She stared at the sun in a daze until it was blocked by Hermione's worried face.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

She sat up and her back throbbed. Her face twisted into a grimace.

"Miss Potter!" Hooch hurried over. "Are you alright?"

Harry was following at a more sedate pace.

"Nothing broke," She said after a thought. "It'll bruise though."

"What happened?" the professor demanded.

"Malfoy flew by really fast and Camellia lost her grip," Hermione explained.

Hooch spun around to face the unapologetic blond. The sheepish look on his face was entirely faked.

"She must not have been holding on tight enough, professor," he drawled, "I couldn't have been going _that_ fast."

There were a few snickers from some of the Slytherins and it was clear that Hooch didn't believe him. Her brother helped her stand. The look in his darkened green eyes didn't match the smile on his lips.

"I'll walk her to the Hospital Wing," Harry offered.

Hooch nodded her consent. "Class is almost over. Even if the bell hasn't rung when you get there, it'd be a waste of time to return."

He didn't look at Malfoy when he walked her by, but she did. He was smirking nastily at her. She sneered back. Harry waited until they were at the castle doors before speaking.

"It was a good thing after all that you stayed close to the ground," he mused; his tone sounded a little odd. "I was completely out of it up there."

It was his way of apologizing, she supposed.

"If I was higher I might be able to miss Double Potions," she dryly pointed out.

Harry smiled tightly. "Oh yes. If you were as high as you wanted to be, you'd have missed Snape's charming company. You'd also miss every other class, being dead."

He led her into Pomfrey's tender care and left her.

"If you're only bruised I know you'll be alright," he explained. "You've had worse falls than that."

She knew that, but it didn't mean she didn't want him to stick around a little longer. Camellia sighed and removed her robe to allow the fussing healer access to her aching back.

**-()_()_()-**

Malfoy didn't show up to Double Potions that afternoon. Many people were exchanging bewildered looks, several gave her suspicious looks even, and Snape seemed to be in a worse mood than usual. Camellia suddenly had a very clear idea of just why Harry had left the infirmary so early. She wondered what he did.

"Are you alright?" Hermione whispered.

"Peachy, I suppose," she answered.

Class started and Malfoy was still missing. Camellia noticed the wary glares that she and Harry were receiving from the Slytherins. It made her worry for him a little.

"Bruise soothing salve!" Snape snarled.

The instructions wrote themselves on the blackboard.

"Get to work. If I catch any of you fooling around it'll be detention."

She wondered if it were deliberate, the lesson choice, but shrugged it off. Hermione went to get the ingredients, so she set up the cauldron. Harry was chatting quietly with Zabini about something while shredding the chamomile petals, but the details were drowned out by the murmurs of her other classmates.

"…where Malfoy is?"

"I just saw him in the hallway before class!" a pug nosed girl hissed; she sounded distraught.

Camellia turned the heat up on her cauldron. If Malfoy was seen just before class then Harry must have worked fast. She and Hermione worked on their assignment in silence for the rest of the period. Most of the class did, after the thirty point deduction and detention Ron Weasley received for asking his partner to pass the flowers. The rumors of Malfoy being Snape's favorite must hold true then. She and Hermione put their salve into the jars provided and turned them in. It wasn't until dinner that they found out what happened to Malfoy. Lavender Brown was eager to share what she'd heard from various prefects.

"He was stuck in a trick step!" she announced, giggling. "The one on the stairs leading to the third floor, in fact."

"What was he doing there?" one of the Gryffindor boys, Finnegan maybe, asked.

Brown shrugged. "Maybe he got curious, who knows? He's in loads of trouble though. Slytherin lost sixty points from that. Malfoy keeps saying someone pushed him, but he didn't actually see anyone and besides, he was nearly at the top. No one believes him. His housemates are really angry."

The green sand in the Slytherin hourglass was lower than the rest of the Houses now. It wasn't by much, but it was enough to be obvious. Camellia didn't care about the House Cup competition, but others did. Malfoy was probably very unpopular at the moment, if the furious glowers aimed at him were any indication. Harry's face was blank, but she got the feeling he was very satisfied.

**-()_()_()-**

"I'm telling you someone pushed me!" Malfoy insisted loudly.

Flint laughed incredulously. "Pushed you up to the _top_ of the stairs and stuck you in the step?"

"_Yes_!" he stressed.

Harry looked up briefly from his book just to raise an eyebrow at Malfoy, whose now red face clashed horribly with his platinum blond hair. He was panting, petulant, and not moving anyone in the room. They weren't more than twenty points lower than any of the other Houses, but then Slytherin didn't earn House points as often as the others either. For those competitive people that took the Cup seriously, it was a bit of an ego blow. Never mind that they could make up the difference by the end of the week just on account of Snape alone. He gave points for his students _breathing _properly for Merlin's sake! The common room had most, if not all, of the current Slytherins present.

"Those stairs are in the opposite direction of the ones leading to the classroom part of the dungeons," Tracey Davis softly pointed out. "Even if someone pushed you all the way to the top of them, you were in the wrong section of the castle to begin with."

Malfoy looked embarrassed. "I went the wrong way. Someone must have _jinxed_ me."

Harry snorted in amusement, causing all heads to swivel in his direction.

"And who might that someone be?" he questioned. "From what I hear, you neither saw nor heard anyone."

The blonde narrowed his eyes. It made him look like an angry ferret, but less endearing.

"It must have been you!" he accused wildly. "Getting revenge for your sister were you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy had as good as admitted that he had attacked her on purpose with that… not that anyone thought any differently, which was why Harry did, in fact, jinx him. No one needed to know that for sure though.

"You're ridiculous," he said instead. "I was walking her to the infirmary. How fast do you think I am?"

"He's correct…" Blaise murmured. "It would have taken him about ten minutes to get to the infirmary while supporting her and he left with only five minutes of class to spare. At a brisk pace, the Potions classroom is five minutes from there. Ten minutes are allotted between bells to go class to class. Halfway to the Hospital wing when the bell rang, there with the ten minutes down to five, five minutes to the Potions classroom. He would have had no time to spare for you."

"That's the most I've ever heard him speak at a time," someone whispered.

Blaise didn't even look in that person's direction or acknowledge that he had heard. His piercing yellow-green gaze was locked onto the fuming Malfoy scion. Harry was amused at his almost-friend's deduction. It would have been true, had he not took up a much faster pace once the entrance doors shut him from his classmates' sight. Camellia rarely paid much attention to how fast or slow she was walking. Once he sped up, she unconsciously followed suit. They got to the infirmary in seven minutes. Three minutes to spare. He left quickly to maximize his time. Eight minutes to get to class. With the shortcuts through the tapestries it never took him more than four. Four minutes to cast the confusion jinx and a few fanning spells to coax Malfoy in the direction of the staircase and get down to the dungeons. Blaise was wrong on the last part. He had ample time to spare for Draco Malfoy, who had knocked his twin from her broom while she was in the air. Six feet from the ground was dangerous and she was lucky to get away with a bruised back; he hated to think about what would have happened if she were much higher.

"It's shameful of you to throw out these weak excuses," Harry told the blond coolly. "If you were curious about the third floor then say so. Not that it'll help much, what with that poor sense of timing and complete lack of caution."

"Quite right," Flint growled. "If Potter had no time to spare throwing jinxes and pushing you up stairs, you had even less to explore the Forbidden Corridor. What were you thinking?"

Seeing as how the upper years had taken over the conversation again, Harry returned to his book and scanned the page to find where he had left off. Blaise's hand interrupted the search. He looked up in question.

"It's troublesome to study here right now." Blaise told him.

Flint's quarrel with Malfoy was growing steadily in volume in the background. It wouldn't surprise anyone if the bulky Quidditch captain snapped and got physical at any moment. Blaise stood and looked to Harry expectantly.

"Where to?" Harry asked, grabbing his things.

"Wherever."

He didn't yet have anything stowed away in his room, so he decided on that. There was a test coming up in McGonagall's class and they needed as few distractions as possible. He left his arguing classmates to their dispute.

**-()_()_()-**

The weather on Saturday was agreeable, Camellia noted. Enough that she slammed her book shut and left the library to get some fresh air. It didn't take long for Hermione to scurry along after her. She was sticking much closer since the flying lessons the previous day. Camellia would have chalked it up to an unreasonable paranoia for her wellbeing, had it not been for the increasingly woeful looks the brunette was sporting.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

The lake was murky even at the bed. The creatures in it were probably the sun-disliking sort. Dangerous, in other words. She turned back to Hermione, who was fidgeting.

"It's nothing!" Hermione lied.

"Hmph."

She crouched down by the reeds and plucked one stalk to stir in the water. When she pulled it out there was a chunk missing.

"I don't really understand." Hermione said quietly.

Camellia made no sign that she had heard.

"I can't fit in anywhere. I don't understand why you like me over anyone else in the House."

She snorted and stood. "Does it look like _I_ fit in here? You're not annoying. That's all there is to it."

There was a jutting slab of rock a little more to the left. It looked wide enough to lounge on, which she wanted to do. She hoped that older students hadn't gotten the same idea and then some. Hermione climbed up to sit next to her, but didn't look up at the clouds with her. She was hugging her knees and staring at the mysterious water.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Camellia simply shrugged, not understanding the display of gratitude.

**-()_()_()-**

"A duel?" Harry echoed lightly. "Where did you get the idea for something like that?"

He had been accosted by Malfoy on his way to the lake, where he saw his sister wandering. Harry had taken it as a given that Malfoy would be troublesome ever since he barged into their train compartment demanding Mell's attention and friendship. His defensive and antisocial little twin rebuffed the boy bluntly without hesitation. Malfoy had left in a huff. Now in one of the entrance hallways with the pleasant sunlight streaming through the many windows, he was the target of Malfoy's ire.

"Scared, Potter?" the boy spat.

His eyebrows rose at the accusation. "I haven't done anything to give that impression. I'm finding this funny, if anything."

"At midnight, Potter!" Malfoy continued, pretending not to hear. "In the trophy room! If you don't come you're a coward!"

He stormed away. Harry wondered who he took after to act like that. It was simple fact that he and Camellia had been relatively spoiled by their rich and loving parents, but they weren't prone to frequent bouts of tantrum. Harry made a face and looked out one of the windows. He didn't see Camellia anymore. With a sigh he headed out anyway. She might have wandered under a willow tree or behind one of the rocks. If not, then it would at least be a nice walk around the water. He mused about Malfoy's proposition. Two first years dueling at midnight in the trophy room was a ridiculous notion. He wouldn't mind hitting Malfoy with a few well placed hexes, of course, but their fight would be a bit short of impressive. In the end he decided that he would go, for a lack of anything better to do, but not before grabbing a few things…

"Potter!"

It seemed he was popular today. Harry spun around, putting on his best smile. The one who called him was one of his classmates, a bright eyed girl named Acacia Moon. She was running toward him with one arm stretched out as though she was hailing him like a cab. Her long golden plait looked like a streaming banner behind her. She caught up, panting slightly in exertion.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She pulled a crumpled sheet of parchment out of her vest and shoved it in his face. Harry blinked at it, trying to focus his eyes on the scribbles. He recognized a few lines from some of their textbooks. Charms?

"Please help me understand this!" she pleaded.

Harry took the page from her. "What is it? The Charm's homework?"

She looked surprised, then embarrassed. "Oh! Wrong side; it's on the back."

He flipped it over and saw a few dates circled and crossed out with goblin names next to them. The timeline they were supposed to draw out for History then. He looked it over, since he had it, though he didn't know what brought her to him of all people. They hadn't exchanged more than morning greetings since introductions at the Opening Feast.

"You mixed up Dirkhill and Killdirk," he remarked, "but other than that, all the circled dates are right."

Moon looked amazed as she gently took the wrinkled sheet from his hands. She looked down at it in fascination.

"History is my worst subject," she said dazedly. "But I only got two things wrong."

Harry scratched the back of his head. "Good job?"

She beamed at him. "Thank you very much!"

He watched her run off, feeling slightly bewildered, but shrugged it off and continued on his way to the lake, just barely missing Camellia and Hermione.

**-()_()_()-**

Mrs. Norris prowled the hallways alongside of her servant, just outside of his lamplight. Her yellow eyes reflected the glow eerily as she padded along.

"Going to catch a little troublemaker out of bed, Mrs. Norris!" her servant cackled. "And I'm going to string him up by his thumbs! That wretched James Potter… can't believe he had the nerve to spawn another hellion just like him! I'll get his hellspawn like I never got him! He'll pay…"

She mewed in response, gaze sweeping. Sweeping just like her servant's broom that she so loved to play with.

"Playing in the trophy room at midnight, no doubt making another mess for me to clean. Just like his fiendish father!"

Her servant threw open a door and shined his light all around. She smelled someone here. She saw no one here. She mewed and tried to approach the scent. That boy she knew was here.

"Hiding in the shadows, eh boy? It won't save you. Come out!"

The scent kept moving, she kept following, but it was everywhere and nowhere. Then it was gone and all she could smell was foul.

"Dung!" Her servant screeched. "How dare you leave dung on these floors! How _dare_ you!"

Her servant fell on the floor. The light died.

"There's no one here! That liar little Malfoy… he left dung on the floor! There's dung everywhere!"

Her servant sounded angry and the room reeked of lizard waste, so Mrs. Norris hissed.

**-()_()_()-**

Harry was cheerful at breakfast. He was so cheerful that Blaise was staring at him in fascination and Camellia was shooting him suspicious looks, but Harry said nothing. He buttered some toast, gnawed on some bacon, and drank his orange juice all while seemingly ignoring everything else, including the raspberry-blowing poltergeist zooming around over everyone's heads. The truth was that he was waiting for Malfoy to show his sorry face. If it all went well he could lose Slytherin some more points in Malfoy's name and further bury the little twit before he got too big for his trousers. The blond was trying so hard to curry the favor of his pureblood classmates… while presenting the face of a spoiled and ignorant braggart. Malfoy wouldn't know what to do with a good friend if someone made him a how-to list with vocabulary footnotes! Blaise was staring harder at him. Harry figured his emotions must be showing clearly on his face, but was distracted from his thoughts of practicing expressions by a cry of surprise to his left.

"The hourglass!"

They were down another twenty points. Snape was probably going to have to award those who had their vest buttons fastened while stalking down the halls. Harry felt a smirk tug at his lips, but hid it quickly behind a bite of toast. Filch must have caught up with Malfoy. The sand was trickling even more. Thirty points gone… thirty-five… they were now over fifty points behind the other Houses and Gryffindor was in the lead. The caretaker must not have liked the dung bombs that he left around the trophy room. Harry would have felt bad about playing such a nasty trick on another just to frame a classmate, but his father had _things_ to say about Argus Filch that killed any shred of remorse. Malfoy showed up in the hall soon after. He looked furious.

"You never showed!" he hissed at Harry.

The plates and utensils rattled where Malfoy slammed his hands. Several people gave him dirty looks.

"Showed where?" Harry asked, amused.

"To the trophy room! Filch just grabbed me by the ear ranting about how he tripped into some dung bombs I set up!" Malfoy raved. "He took forty points total!"

Harry was feeling very darkly victorious now. Malfoy's wording couldn't have been any better. It was almost sad how easily the boy damned himself, and he did damn himself. Everyone that heard him was glowering. Harry didn't realize that so many people cared about the House Cup. He'd have to keep that in mind.

"So you rigged up the trophy room with dung bombs to get me with? And so that's why you said you wanted to meet me there?" Harry asked; his voice quivered with laughter. "That's some plan there, Malfoy."

Malfoy spluttered. "What? No! I didn't! I didn't put the dung bombs there!"

There was a cackle from above. Peeves did a loop above the Slytherin table and came to a stop just above Malfoy's head.

"_Dragon dung, dragon dung_~" he sang. "Little Malfoy's a little liar. Oh yes he is. He put dragon dung on poor old Filch and Mrs. Norris."

"I did not!"

He was causing a scene now. It was all that Harry had hoped for and then some. He was expecting a little point loss and maybe for the boy to get a detention and in more trouble with the other Slytherins, but for Malfoy to embarrass himself in front of everyone at breakfast? It was too bad that there weren't as many people around as there would be if it were a weekday. Flint in particular seemed to like sleeping in on weekends.

"_Mister_ Malfoy!"

Everyone hushed when McGonagall came storming over, looking thunderous. Her heeled boots echoed ominously on the stone floor.

"Just what is all this commotion?"

By the time she was done with him, Slytherin was down another fifteen points and Malfoy was the House's persona non grata. Harry couldn't be happier.

**-()_()_()-**

_Harry,_

_ Your mother asked me to be the one to write you back. She claims it's because she doesn't want to have to write every letter when I have working hands, but really it's because she doesn't know what to say about your request. I think another dog would be great. Padfoot's getting on in age, after all. If I see a hellhound anywhere for sale I'll definitely consider it seriously. Mind you, I'm not about to take off to Greece or wherever looking too deeply. Maybe you can have the one you saw at school once it's finished guarding whatever it needs to be guarding. To be honest, I'm a little jealous of you. Back in my day we had to experiment with spells, illegal animagus transformations, and werewolves to have any fun. We never had three headed dogs and Headmaster issued death threats. Anyway, what I'm saying is that I'll see what I can do._

_ With your other subject though, I have nothing more to say than BE CAREFUL! I've been working on my whole "judgmental issue" (as Lily calls it) thing, but the Zabini lady rings all kinds of alarm bells. I don't know about her son, but if you ever feel like he's trying to seduce you with the intent to kill you and take your fortune, don't be afraid to back out. It's not a problem if he's after Mell, except the whole killing thing, because she's the younger child. You're the heir. The money goes to you in the end. And you're all too young for that anyway, so what am I saying? Well, have a good school year._

_Love, James_

Harry spent a good ten minutes staring at the writing with an internal struggle raging in his head. Set it alight or send it home to his mother?

"_Incendio_…"

It was a shining example of exactly the sort of thing he didn't want anyone else getting a hold of.


	4. Unconventional Standards

**CHAPTER 04 - Unconventional Standards**

During the fourth week of October, Camellia found herself the subject of McGonagall's attention.

"May I speak with you, Miss Potter?"

Camellia stopped in the doorway, stepped away from it, and approached her Transfiguration professor. Hermione hovered until she shooed her off and several of her classmates gave her curious looks.

"Yes?" she prompted.

McGonagall looked to be considering her words very carefully. Camellia waited in silence. She had Charms class shortly, but was certain she would be given a note, so she didn't spare it more than a passing thought.

"The Headmaster wishes for me to look into your home life," McGonagall eventually said. "He's concerned with how you're handling the pressure of your… status."

Just what was this woman implying about her parents? Her home life was quiet, fun, and peaceful and there was nothing anyone had done to make reasonable people think otherwise. Well, therein lay the problem, she figured.

Her eyes narrowed. "My parents raised my brother and myself with all their love."

"In isolation," McGonagall added.

"In isolation," She confirmed. "Considering how most have been treating me it's the best decision they could have made."

She watched the tight faced woman remove her glasses and wipe the lenses. Was it a show of disapproval or disappointment? Or just a relaxing habit? Camellia knew for a fact that wizard-made glasses had grime repellents. Her brother and father never had to clean theirs.

"Can you tell me nothing to assuage his concern?"

"There is nothing to be concerned about to begin with," she said firmly. "We were raised with our mother's wits, Professor, and we're doing very well for it."

McGonagall sighed, "Very well then."

She wrote a note to Flitwick and allowed her to go. Camellia hurried to the class, feeling a little agitated, and handed the note to the Charms professor. Hermione greeted her quietly once she sat down.

"What happened?" her friend asked.

"Dumbledore wanted to know about my home life. Concerned about how I was raised," she muttered.

Hermione's brow creased in confusion. "There's nothing wrong with you. Why would he need to know something like that?"

"Because I'm bloody famous," she grumbled.

They left it alone for the rest of the period, for which she was grateful. It made her angry enough just thinking about it.

**-()_()_()-**

In his circular office high in the castle, surrounded by all manners of knick-knacks and strange baubles, Dumbledore sat pondering the words of his Deputy Headmistress. It had not been his favorite idea, to send her to directly question the Girl-Who-Lived, but he was honestly at a loss for how else to get an answer. In retrospect, it was a rushed decision, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He focused on what he gleaned from it, rather than what he could have done differently. Camellia Potter had not said much in regards to her upbringing, but one thing in particular stood out to him—her claim that she had been raised with her mother's wits. Normally such a thing wouldn't raise any alarms, but when the mother in question was Lily Potter… With a thoughtful hum he brought his wizened old fingers together. His brow was faintly creased, causing his half-moon glasses to slide slightly down his crooked nose. Minerva must have noticed the subtle gesture, for she looked closely at him in concern. Her lips pursed, as was her habit when she was disquieted. Dumbledore smiled gently at her in an attempt to lessen her anxiety. Her face relaxed so he knew he must have been at least partially successful.

"Is something wrong, Albus?" she wondered. "My wording was less than perfect, I know, but..."

He sighed and shook his head ruefully. "Sometimes the sweetest apples… have the foulest worms inside."

Minerva looked bewildered at the pronouncement. Of course she liked to see the best in the students who dressed in red and gold. The outwardly angelic Lily Evans had been no exception to her optimistic mindset. When Severus's fingers were melted away, burned off, or fused together in Potions class—it was an accident, naturally. When the Slytherin common room had to be decontaminated of a mutated breed of lice—it was only a coincidence that Petunia Evans had lice at the time Lily went home for the winter break with that potions kit lent to her by Horace Slughorn. When, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Severus was cursed by a wayward hex or two—her aim was just a little off, she didn't mean to do it, really, and she was ever so sorry. Even outside of Hogwarts, following her graduation, Deatheaters disappeared almost as much as his own followers did if they acted out against her in any way. She had alibis and excuses that fooled everyone else, but Dumbledore saw what many of his staff did not. Lily Evans, now Potter, was a brilliant and vindictive woman who could nurse a grudge as though it were her own child and if she could nurture a grudge like so, then just how did she raise the two that actually did come from her womb?

If they were raised with their mother's wits, were they at least raised with their father's chivalry?

Not for the first time he wondered about the Potter family. James, who had once been so outgoing and carefree, was now a recluse who closely guarded his family's secrets. He was a prince in the air, a skilled Master of Transfiguration, and a respected auror, but no longer as sociable as he used to be. Lily, who had at one time appeared sweet and gentle, was actually a mystery of many faces. She became a Potions Mistress and Charms Mistress straight out of school, stunning everyone with her genius, but she rarely appeared in public anymore, choosing instead to merely sell potions every now and again. Their son, Harry Potter, the older twin—he was sorted into Slytherin! He was a cheerful boy who appeared interested in making friends. Dumbledore wondered now how much of that was a reflection of his mother's kindhearted façade, veiling a vicious heart. Then there was young Camellia. She had turned out nothing like he had envisioned the one chosen by Fate to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had whimsically pictured someone humble, friendly, and pleasant. He was surprised to receive a defensive, bitter girl who was almost completely disinterested in other people. Yes, the Potter family had changed in recent years.

And it bothered the old wizard that he hadn't quite seen it happen.

**-()_()_()-**

The leaves in the trees were rustling loudly all around. It was an intimidating sound that came naturally with the territory. Hogwarts had a lot of greenery, something that all but guaranteed that Harry would love it. He felt best when he was outdoors, which was why he was spending his free period out by the lake again. The black surface was rippling rapidly, but still gave no hint as to what lurked beneath his surface. He gave it a fond smile and silently promised that he would explore its depths someday.

"Harry."

He brushed his wind tousled hair from his face and turned around slowly to face the speaker. He smiled to see his sister standing there, along with her friend Hermione Granger, who was nervously toeing the ground. Mell was pinching the loose fabric of the other girl's sleeve as though she were trying to keep her from bolting. Or perhaps from flying away in the afternoon's stronger currents, but if that were the case then Mell, the smaller of the two, would have to be the one anchored.

"Shouldn't you be in History right now?" he questioned.

Hermione keened and Harry knew then just why she looked so nervous. She was passionately studious, so skipping class was probably blasphemous to her, no matter how monotonous the teacher was. He personally thought that a History class skipped was an hour well spent so long as Binns was the instructor. Their absence likely wouldn't be noticed anyway unless a classmate squealed.

Mell shrugged, face drawn. "McGonagall asked about how we were raised. Headmaster's request. It bothered me that she was implying mum and dad didn't do as well as they could."

Harry frowned at the explanation. Why would the Headmaster be concerned about that? Sure, Mell was considered to be the Girl-Who-Lived and possibly had some political leverage, but Dumbledore already had all that he needed. Why start prodding at her home life of all things? Camellia looked a little distressed, so Harry patted her on the head, promising to himself that he would add it to the questions he intended to bombard Remus with. Remus would answer anything if he phrased it just right.

"We were all being harassed left and right by anyone and everyone until mum pulled us all away from the public eye. If they didn't do the best they could, it's not their fault. They were backed into a corner," he told her.

Hermione's face was twisted in thought. He wondered if she was reflecting on how people treated Camellia around the school. It would make her a better friend, he believed, if she understood that the public was not gentle in their obsession and that the Potter family was hurt by some of the actions taken in the years after the war. They had been stalked and pounced on many times before Lily's plan to withdraw into isolation was forced by the swarm in Eturn. His sister must have noticed his eyes flickering over to the brunette, since she sighed and tugged her friend forward. The girl looked a little lost, so Harry offered his hand to her.

"We haven't met properly yet, have we? Harry Potter, Mell's brother." He grinned widely in encouragement.

She smiled shyly in return. "Hermione Granger."

They shook on it and stepped back, hair flying in every direction. He laughed at the sight and pulled his fringe away from his brow. The wind really was picking up. That along with the clouds rolling in foretold some rainfall soon, but he didn't want to return to the school just yet. The fresh air, chaotic as it was, was great.

"We should at least go somewhere that the wind is blocked." He suggested

Mell grabbed Hermione and dragged her along after him. There was a large collection of massive boulders on the other side of the lake that had several sheltered pockets. They made their way over without conversation. It would have simply been drowned out anyway. The storm brewing would probably be raging by dinnertime at this rate. Harry stretched out once they were under the relative cover of the mammoth rocks that vaguely resembled a cave. The howl of the wind picking up speed was muted and it was a little warmer as well. Mell sidled up to him and leaned on his shoulder. After some hesitation, Hermione did the same on her other side. She was not rejected for doing so. Interesting.

"You usually run off to be alone when you're upset," Harry remarked. "I'm surprised you brought a friend."

His sister made a noise that he interpreted as embarrassment. He smiled softly.

"I'm glad though. I can't be around all the time anymore since we're in different Houses."

He felt her poke his side sharply in protest, but she still said nothing. Hermione did though; he supposed she felt a little awkward remaining silent.

"You're not like the other Slytherins I've met," she observed. "The others are… well."

"Obnoxious? Rude?" Harry finished knowingly, "I know very well, though some are a lot nicer behind closed doors. I was sent there for the 'base qualities expected of the House rather than misplaced dreams of being better than everyone else.' Well, those were the hat's words anyway."

"Stupid hat," Mell grumbled.

Hermione giggled briefly but cut herself off. She was probably like Mell in that she would have fared better in blue. Ravenclaws were generally reclusive and didn't pry deeply into the business of others. Generally at least; he had the feeling that Mell would be questioned nonstop by some curious minds. Harry rolled his shoulders and checked the time with a quick _tempus_. The girls had forty minutes of History left to kill. He pulled a stack of cards from his robes and waved them around with a smirk.

"Exploding Snap?"

He was surprised when Mell took it and began laying the cards out. She hated the game and refused to play it whenever Sirius brought out his deck, as she was easily upset by loud noises and didn't care for the eyebrow-singing that often accompanied an intense round. He had only brought it out to tease her. But then Hermione looked around her shoulder with a blatantly curious expression on her face and Harry quickly stifled a laugh. Whether she knew it or not, the brunette was starting to reveal herself as a positive influence.

"You see two identical cards and you hit them for a point. The deck shuffles faster with each pair tapped and if you tap one card but miss the matching one, that card you tapped will probably explode shortly after if you don't match it quickly," Mell droned. "You win if you get the most points."

Hermione shuffled around the rows of cards to get in a better position and scanned the pictures printed on them. It was probably the first close-up of a wizard's game she had ever seen, if the rapt look of fascination was anything to go by. It was one of those little cultural differences that needed to be picked up in person. Muggleborns tended to enjoy Exploding Snap the most for its pyrotechnics and self-shuffling features. Harry moved around to the opposite side of the game from Hermione and brought out his wand. The others did the same.

"Ready?" he asked. "Start!"

Hermione turned out to have good reflexes and an eye for detail. She rapidly hit bowtruckle after bowtruckle and dragon after dragon until she missed a flobberworm and singed her sleeve. The cry of surprise as the card detonated sent Mell into startled giggles. She won the first game, beating Harry by three points and Mell by seven. At Hermione's insistence, they played several rounds more that lasted a good half hour longer than History ran. They likely would have continued if it weren't for the telltale sound of raindrops plopping down on the rocks. The trio stared at the dark splotches of wet stone for a moment before Harry gathered and pocketed his deck.

"Looks like the storm's starting," he sighed, standing.

It was a little disappointing. Hiding in a cave with two class-skippers to play Exploding Snap was actually one of the more enjoyable things he had done all month, even topping his weekly narrations of deadly potion alterations to Blaise. A clap of thunder had them hurriedly gathering their belongings and racing back to the castle, laughing breathily all the way as the drizzle turned into a downpour. Once inside they continued their hustle through the halls and finally paused at the base of the Gryffindor tower to cool off, ignoring the odd stares of passing students.

"I'm soaked!" Hermione exclaimed.

Mell helpfully cast a drying charm. It wasn't perfect and left them all still damp, but they weren't dripping anymore. The feeling was distinctly uncomfortable and made him yearn for a shower. Thank Slytherin those were private as well. The man must have been more secretive than anyone gave him due credit for.

"We should get cleaned up before dinner," Harry told them.

He moved to leave, but was stopped by his sister's hand wrapping around his wrist, so he turned back around and waited expectantly.

"I need to talk to you," she said. "Hermione, I'll be up in a minute."

The pair waited until she was out of earshot and gave their surroundings a few checks to ensure they were at least feasibly alone. Harry had to stop himself from cringing when Mell's grip tightened until her knuckles were white. It was from years of practicing Quidditch in the yard. He had no doubt she'd make a good beater if she could find someone to work with her. She leaned in, eyeing him warily.

"I know you're collecting," she murmured, "but she's _my_ companion."

Harry grinned crookedly at the display of possessiveness. She had only known Hermione for a month and a half now, but was already viewing her like that? Somehow the girl must have made an impression somewhere. The attitude Mell was hinting at was not dissimilar to the way she saw her precious pet cat, something Harry thought a little funny. He hoped her friend didn't mind the comparison if she ever found out. Harry disregarded his sister's scowl as he ruffled her hair affectionately.

"I won't ignore anyone's usefulness, but I won't go out of my way to mess with her either," he promised.

He stepped back, forcing her to release her grip or be dragged along. She folded her arms and half-turned to the stairway. Her face held a satisfied expression, though she tried to hide it with her typical frown.

"I'll see you later," she muttered.

Harry watched her go, feeling oddly lighthearted, and began walking in the opposite direction to the Slytherin common room. He whistled merrily on his way.

**-()_()_()-**

The week following their little getaway in the makeshift cave by the lake found the school decorated very thoroughly for Halloween, but she wasn't feeling the festive atmosphere at the moment. Rather the opposite actually. Camellia felt like she should have expected it, like she _really_ should have expected it. The signs had been there, but she didn't know how to interpret them. She felt particularly angry with herself. Hermione sniffled from behind the stall door she was pacing in front of. It didn't help any with the maelstrom rolling around her head.

"And then he s-said that I didn't really have any f-friends."

She punched a door and flinched at the loud _bang_ it made. It wasn't satisfying at all. It wasn't the face of whoever had made Hermione cry.

"Camellia?"

Hermione's high pitched whine only made her angrier, but not at the crying girl hiding in front of a toilet. She huffed and leaned against the sink. She wasn't much at comforting, but there was no one else around to try it either. She couldn't stand hearing the chatty bookworm sound so small. It reminded her too much of Deidre's first encounter with a thunderstorm. Pitiful and weak. It didn't suit the chatty, pushy girl.

"He's wrong," she grumbled.

The situation in general was wrong. She and Hermione should be down in the Great Hall enjoying the Halloween Feast surrounded by all the decorations and good food. Her stomach growled at the thought of the orange jelly she knew must be down there.

"Are we friends?" Hermione asked meekly.

It was something she had yet to say out loud, but it was an apt enough description by her guess. It wasn't like she'd ever had a friend before for comparison. She claimed Harry to be her friend, but he was her brother, so she wasn't sure that counted.

She had to force the answer out. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" Hermione pressed. "You don't sound sure! I—"

She was cut off when the lavatory door blew open. Camellia threw herself off the sink and darted to Hermione's stall door, already gagging at the sudden whiff of sweat and dung that practically rolled off the creature in the entry. Its appearance was just as disgusting as its scent.

"What was that!?"

There was a click as Hermione unlatched her door and then she was screaming in Camellia's ear. Her eardrums throbbed at the onslaught. Immediately, the troll headed in their direction.

"Move!" Camellia bellowed.

She yanked Hermione out of the stall, narrowly avoiding a messy clubbing, and they both toppled over to land under the sink. The toilet was broken now and spilling water across the stones. With a grunt Camellia hauled Hermione up, trying to drag her toward the hall, but her stunned friend was surprisingly heavy.

"Hermione! Wake up!"

The delay gave the troll enough time to jerk his club up from the porcelain ruins and swing it wildly at the faucets. Camellia cringed at the sharp tinkling of breaking glass, dropping Hermione, who was brought back to awareness by the short fall. She scrambled to her feet, staring in horror at the misshapen creature. Her eyes were still red from her earlier tears.

"Is that a troll!? Camellia, that's troll!"

She shrieked and dove out of the way of another blow, landing painfully on her elbow if her cry was anything to go by. It kicked Camellia out of her daze. She pulled out her wand and cast the basic fire spell, barely singing it, but its attention turned to her instead. She was sent sprawling shortly after by a sudden blow to her side and cursed her carelessness. Her mother had already explained how to deal with these things. Gaea's Mane had its fair share of forest trolls trudging around and her parents had been forced to defend her and Harry from them several times.

"Camellia!"

The troll lumbered for the brunette again. Camellia forced herself to focus, noticing very quickly that her wand was no longer in hand. She groped frantically for anything in reach and brushed the cold metal of a busted faucet pipe. The troll's back was to her, exposed. Her dad always liked to get their backs turned. He liked to confuse them and then move in with all of his power. In contrast, her mother liked to aim for the eyes. She surged to her feet, knowing which she was going to have to try.

"Get away from her!" she yelled.

She swung the pipe as hard as she could at the back of the creature's knees and was rewarded with a fleshy _thwack_ and a roar of pain. The troll, unbalanced by the attack, slid in the water that coated the floor. Its landing shook the room. Hermione, still horrified, raised her wand.

"_Flipendo_!" she gasped.

The club was wrenched into the air. Its weight brought it back down quickly. The troll's nose broke with the impact. It roared again, sweeping its arms around in anger. Camellia tackled Hermione out of the way, trying hard to ignore the throbbing of her upper body. She was wheezing in pain and breathing hurt.

"I'll be every friend you need," she whispered harshly, impulsively. "So stop being so insecure!"

She threw the faucet pipe at the troll's face as it was reaching for its club, nailing it right in its damaged nose. It collapsed heavily, bleeding and breathing erratically. Camellia sank to her knees, heart pounding but feeling drained. Hermione, cradling her elbow, was quickly at her side.

"Camellia, are you alright?"

She could only grunt in response as a flurry of footsteps came up the hall. Just minutes too late, the professors arrived. They gaped at the scene in front of them. She had to focus just to make out their swimming faces.

"Miss Potter, Miss Granger! What in Merlin's name is going on here!?" McGonagall demanded.

Camellia growled, "I was comforting Hermione after some housemates made her cry and a troll burst in."

Her Head of House spluttered and stood there, looking floored. Flitwick approached though and cast a few diagnostic spells. He hissed at the results.

"Never mind that now, Minerva!" he barked. "They're both injured."

The tiny man helped them both up and guided them out of the bathroom. Quirrel looked faint, Snape sneered, and Dumbledore's expression was an unfamiliar one, but they were of no consequence to her now, as she and Hermione were led down the stairs to the infirmary. She couldn't help but wonder if this was going to be a regular thing.

**-()_()_()-**

Harry sat in an armchair in the Slytherin common room surrounded by many of his housemates. The searing headache that had spontaneously developed when Quirrel rushed into the Great Hall during the feast had mostly receded, but there was still a phantom pain stinging his right side, just over the ribs. Headaches were one thing; sudden aches elsewhere were usually a sign that his sister had gotten herself into trouble. It happened to magical twins with considerable frequency, and he could personally vouch that it was true. When one was injured, the other could occasionally tell, though they wouldn't feel it as strongly. The theory was that it only happened in high-stress situations, which was why he felt nothing when Mell fell from her broom. Harry rubbed the sore spot, frowning slightly in thought. The fact that a troll was loose in the castle at the same time he was feeling this ache was not likely a coincidence, but they had yet to receive any word on what was going on. He sighed and looked around the room for a lack of anything better to do. Across from him sat Blaise, reading a book about venomous creatures and how to milk them. Harry had loaned it to the other boy when he'd expressed interest in it. A friend of his mother's wrote it. The other students were still nibbling on the food that had been delivered to them to make up for the interruption of the feast.

The common room door swung open and Snape limped in. Everyone looked up in tandem with their faces twisted into curiosity. Harry mused that they all looked much younger with expressions like that, rather than the leers they usually sported. They looked much less unpleasant. Their Head of House moved to the center of the room, eyes roving until they landed on Harry, who found himself on the other end of a hard stare.

"Mister Potter," he began, "your sister has landed herself in the Hospital Wing after attempting to fight the troll. She probably thought she could handle it… after months of listening to little else but praise."

He couldn't hold back a snort. Many of the people around him gave him incredulous looks and even Blaise looked up long enough to raise an eyebrow in question. He realized that his reaction must have looked bad explained himself.

"I can assure you she listened to none of it," he said dryly. "If she ran into the troll it wasn't by choice."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I wonder what the girl would think of that unconcerned reaction."

It wasn't like he was unconcerned, it really wasn't. Mell's ribs were probably broken, judging by what he was feeling and that was far from a good thing because broken bones really hurt. It was just that both he and his sister were no strangers to attacks by wild beasts. He was confident that she was alive, healing well, and acting as sarcastic as ever. Just like every other time she was confined to a bed. So, feeling a little bold, Harry offered his Head of House a thumb up and a grin.

"I bet she beat it bloody!" he declared cheerfully. "Just like mum would have."

For the life of him he couldn't figure out why Snape would look so put out at that statement. His face eventually fell into his standard sneer.

"You of course cannot visit until the allotted visitors' hours tomorrow, regardless of your sister's celebrity status," Snape informed him.

Harry shrugged neutrally in response. He had four hours until midnight and his invisibility cloak pocketed. What did allotted times mean to him?

"The situation with the troll has been resolved," the dour man continued, this time addressing the whole of the room. "However, as there is a mere hour left until curfew, I would advise you to not wander about."

He exited with his cloak fluttering heavily behind him. Harry leaned forward to pick a book out of his bag and relaxed into the armchair, ignoring the stares on him. Hugh Morris's _Set Ups and Take Downs_ was calling his name. He would be the sixth person to read it, as it hadn't been mass-produced yet, and he felt positively giddy about it. So he settled in, hoping that Mell would be awake when he visited.


	5. Dangerous Beasts: Here to Find Them

**CHAPTER 06 - Dangerous Beasts, Here To Find Them**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_ I fought a mountain troll today. Hermione had a breakdown from some idiots in our class bullying her so I followed her to the lavatory to make sure she was alright. Apparently in that time Professor Quirrel rushed into the Great Hall and announced that a troll had gotten loose in the school somehow or another. It was supposed to be in the dungeons which are pretty far from the upstairs restroom we were in when it knocked the door down. We got knocked around a little before I remembered all the times I watched you beat the forest trolls that came too close. I hit its knees with a faucet pipe when it turned around, Hermione used a knockback jinx to toss its club in its face, and then I hit its broken nose again with the pipe. We managed to beat it just barely. The professors showed up afterward and Flitwick helped us to the infirmary. Some of my ribs were cracked and Hermione's elbow was a little messed up. Madam Pomfrey took care of us pretty quick though. I still have a few phantom pains even though I took a few healing potions, but everything is fixed._

_I'm waiting on Harry right now. It's close to midnight so he'll probably be visiting soon. Dumbledore assured me that Harry was being told what happened, but he sent Snape so I'm not entirely certain about that. It's a shame neither of us know the area silencing charm. If Harry does make it here I would like to make it known exactly what I think of how my day went. Hermione's sleeping though, so I need to be quiet. Well, the door just opened and no one came in, so I suppose Harry is here now. I'll write again later._

_Camellia_

She capped the quill and blew the ink dry. The bed dipped to her left. It was an odd sight, since her brother was not visible. His hands slipped out from under the silky fabric and reached for the parchment. She let him take it.

"Send it off before you head back?" she requested quietly.

"Of course," Harry agreed.

He set it down after a moment, likely after giving it a quick read. She watched his disembodied hands vanish again under the folds of the cloak. It was a little disturbing.

"Is that everything that happened?" he asked.

She shrugged. "More or less. I'm embarrassed honestly. I panicked."

"I guess it's a little different to be the one fighting," Harry mused. "We were always watching before."

"Mum and dad were having fun," she reminded him.

"They're experienced," Harry pointed out. "I'm sure with more practice you can have as much fun fighting trolls as they did."

Camellia grimaced in distaste. "I'd rather not fight when I don't have to."

"It's better to be skilled whether you have to be or not… have it and not need it or need it and not have it and all that."

His voice sounded a little whimsical when he spoke. She took it to mean that he had slipped off into a daydream like he sometimes did, so she prodded where she thought his stomach was. It felt like she hit his elbow instead, but she still got his attention.

"Sorry," he laughed. "I was just remembering some talks I had with mum a few years ago."

She sighed. "Something about your strange career choices, no doubt."

Harry bumped her with his shoulder. "It's only a problem for people that make it one. Don't worry about that."

She rolled her eyes in response, but didn't bother coming up with a retort. Honestly she was a bit tired and her body felt a bit like the jelly she didn't get to savor at dinner. It was a good thing that Madam Pomfrey was so particular about her patients. She and Hermione would be kept in the infirmary all day, which meant she would be able to sleep in and would have no Double Potions. The thought brought a grin to her face.

"I don't have to be dead to miss it," she muttered smugly.

Her brother ruffled her hair. "You're ridiculous."

She yawned. "Mmhmm, just a little."

Her eyes kept closing of their own accord no matter how hard she tried to keep them open. She didn't usually have issues staying up late and figured that it must be the potions Pomfrey gave her.

"Go to sleep," Harry ordered.

He pulled away and let her fall to the pillow, but he didn't get up. Feeling more secure than she had in awhile, Camellia drifted off.

**-()_()_()-**

The Owlry was much louder at night than during the day, Harry found. The birds were hooting, howling, and barking at each other from all directions and feathers were fluttering everywhere. He shut the door behind him quickly so that the noise didn't escape. The silencing ward around the room kept this racket contained. Sidestepping the droppings and other unidentifiable things on the floor, Harry made his way to the desk by the large window at the back. Hedwig joined him shortly after he pulled out the chair and dropped the hood of his cloak. The noise quieted slightly. He imagined some of the birds were perturbed at the floating head in their midst.

"Ready for delivery?" he asked.

Hedwig barked and preened. Harry stroked her head briefly and picked out a quill. He added his own note to the letter, since it was in front of him.

_P.S._

_During either the winter holiday or summer break, can we go deeper into Gaea's Mane? We learned firsthand how to deal with puffskeins, fairies, and other little things and we watched you both defend us against some stronger things, but Hogwarts seems to have more than we were prepared for. First a hellhound and now a mountain troll, maybe dragons or manticores will be next. Who knows? If we're running into XXXX creatures in our first year, it's not a stretch. I'd just like us to be prepared._

_Harry_

He let it dry, rolled it up, and presented it to Hedwig.

"You know where this goes. Be careful."

She took off in a flash of white over Hogwarts' grounds and vanished into the distance. Harry got up with a tired groan and left the room, pulling the hood back over his face. He couldn't wait for a growth spurt. The cloak really was meant for an adult man and kept drooping if he moved the wrong way. He swept down the hallway towards the staircases and waited patiently for the one he needed to swing back around. As he did so, his eyes wandered to the isolated corridor just a few flights below him. Steps came to a grinding halt in front of him. He moved down a floor and stopped. The stairs he needed were already in place, a straight shot down to the residential portion of the dungeons, but after a thought he ignored them and waited again until another set came to his feet. It was around one in the morning and he had Charms after breakfast, but he couldn't help it. He took the path that would lead him to the hellhound.

"_Alohamora_," he mumbled.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Immediately the three heads rose up and began growling. Harry kicked the door shut and stared up at the beast. He swept the hood off again as he raised his arms in a placating gesture. He noticed the back legs shift to shield a wooden square on the floor.

"I'm only here to visit you," he assured it, smiling softly.

The looks he received were decidedly unimpressed. Well, he did just come down here on a whim with nothing to offer to prove that he wasn't after whatever was down that trapdoor. Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed.

"I suppose I should have brought something. Maybe a snack?" He shrugged. "Sorry, it's the middle of the night, you know."

The hellhound's front claws were gouging the stone. Harry exhaled heavily. He knew it wasn't going to be that easy, of course, but it was still a little disheartening. He rubbed his eyes. It was probably just the hour messing with his mind.

"I just need to go to bed," he sighed.

But he still needed to edit his Charms essay that he neglected in favor of his new book. He grimaced, knowing that the day was going to be a chore. It would be nice if something happened to make up for it.

**-()_()_()-**

Lily paced, enjoying the rhythmic _clonk clonk clonk_ that her work boots made on the wooden floor of the kitchen. She was wide awake and couldn't help it, having only just finished an order. Some potions needed to be watched all day with few breaks in-between and she hated using stasis fields. They sapped quality pinch by pinch and her pride as a Potion's Master wouldn't allow anything less than the best. She didn't mind. Her son appeared to be developing a habit of writing letters well past midnight, so her late hours meant that she was usually the first to read them. After her husband's letter back to Harry she was a little wary of letting him take the quill anymore. That was probably the man's idea behind it all, actually. Lily hummed cheerfully as she saw a familiar white dot in the sky and moved to open the window.

"Good morning," she greeted.

Hedwig landed easily on her shoulder and offered the rolled piece of parchment. It was unsealed and not fastened to the owl's outstretched leg, so it must have been sent off in a hurry. Harry probably found something else of interest, or so she figured until she saw Camellia's handwriting. She leaned against the counter to read it, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure of her braid trapped between her back and the granite. By the end of the first line she had an eyebrow raised; by the end of the first paragraph she was a little peeved. Nonetheless Lily finished reading and even managed a small smile at Harry's postscript. He had been begging to play in the more dangerous portions of the forest for a little over a year. She hadn't let him after the incident with the naiad (who had sulked off that day with a few less fingers), but he wasn't deterred by a little brush with death. Well it wasn't like any of them were. Still, there were limits to what she could allow. Harry sneaking visits to a chained up hellhound was one thing, but…

"I can't believe they let her fight a troll without supervision," she sighed.

A mountain troll at that. They were big, stupid, and vicious; hardly appropriate for a first year. Lily could console herself with the fact that it wasn't a river troll, at least. She stared at the writing for a few minutes more before putting it down on the countertop. A hellhound and a mountain troll. Just what was Dumbledore hiding in his school this time? More importantly, why a mountain troll? If he was going for security he should have hired a security troll. They were a bit brighter and honored their contracts for a reasonable sum of money. She honestly didn't understand _what_ was going on in that man's mind anymore. Lily stepped away from the counter and checked the time. It was three hours past midnight. She smiled nastily and summoned her outdoor cloak. The Headmaster had some explaining to do.

**-()_()_()-**

At three in the morning, there were few things other than the back of the eyelids that most reasonable people wanted to see. Dumbledore considered himself to be a particularly reasonable person. So, when he was woken up at three in the morning by alarms warning him that someone was in his office, he was a little exasperated and mildly concerned. The wards around the Headmaster's quarters were strong on their own and combined with the protections that he had personally layered they could not be broken through by any ordinary person. He hurried to his office to assess the situation only to find Fawkes trilling in amusement at a woman he had not seen in almost a decade. The phoenix was no doubt responsible for her presence in his quarters, having always been fond of her.

"Mrs. Potter, good morning," he greeted, all signed of weariness tucked away. "I see the years have treated you well."

Her hair was much longer and pulled back into a taut plait. It was like a tail of fire trailing from her head. Lily spun around on her heel slowly and faced him. The hue of her eyes was darkened to a hunter's green. It was a shade that spelled trouble, though somehow few had learned to recognize it. Dumbledore knew then that one of her children must have written home about the troll. It had most likely been Harry, as Camellia was in the infirmary under the influence of a potions concoction. He prepared himself for the conversation ahead.

"Good morning, Headmaster," she intoned softly.

Dumbledore, still dressed in his favorite yellow nightgown, took a seat behind his desk. He was out of sherbert lemons and so was unable to offer her any of his confections. He didn't think she would accept them anyway, with that look in her eyes. She stalked around to stand in front of him and ignored the guest chair behind her. The portraits who had awakened with her entrance were now feigning sleep, but Dumbledore could see their eyelids flicker open to observe the happenings below. Several in particular were getting creatively unconvincing with their snores. Lily ignored those strange sounds as well.

"What brings you here at this hour, my dear?" he prompted.

"I imagine you already know," she returned.

He had his suspicions of course, though he couldn't be entirely sure what Lily herself already knew. That was the reasoning behind the conniving young lady's wording. It was a very basic tactic, but against the right person, a very effective one. Dumbledore could not say that he was the right person, being a practitioner of word games himself. So he weaved his fingers into a support for his chin and gave her his most benign smile.

"I cannot say that I do."

Lily's green travelling cloak shifted as she folded her arms. She was wearing muggle clothing beneath it. He remembered that she always preferred to wear reinforced muggle clothing while brewing, claiming that the articles were tighter and thusly less of a hazard than billowing robes and drooping sleeves. He did remind her that specialized robes were made for brewers, but she always shrugged it off.

"I received a letter," she said. "It had some interesting things written in it."

She took to pacing and her dragon hide boots made echoing _clonk_s on the stone floor. Dumbledore watched her carefully, pushing his fatigue to the side for now. Having a few hours of sleep cut would not harm him in the long run and the unpredictable Lily Potter required his full attention. This was the woman who had built a house in an unknown location and pulled her family from the reaching hands of the public without anyone the wiser until several months passed with no word from her. James had taken a brief vacation but returned to work as though nothing had changed in his home life, gradually drifting away from unnecessary acquaintances. Reporters became demanding once their move became known until James threatened to quit and vanish completely, something no one could allow, so they stepped back with reluctance and stayed their queries.

"I'm very curious to know why... why you allowed my daughter to battle a troll without supervision," Lily stated. "There are a number of other things I have concerns about, but that is the most pressing to me at the moment."

Dumbledore gave her a hard stare and deep frown at her phrasing. Knowing this woman, he did not believe that it was a mistake on her part. She was careful when she spoke seriously and generally only spoke what she wanted to convey.

"I am concerned myself, Mrs. Potter, at your only worry being that she was unsupervised," he said quietly.

"And I'm concerned that that's the only thing you respond to when the bigger issue is the fact she was put into such a situation in the first place!" Lily retorted sharply.

"It was an unexpected incident," Dumbledore told her gravely. "One that will not happen again. I _am_ concerned that you would allow your eleven year old daughter to battle a mountain troll, supervised or not. Grown wizards have trouble with such creatures."

"It isn't so different from housing a hellhound on an unblocked corridor with only a warning to not go there," Lily responded silkily. "No, perhaps it's even less dangerous than that. There won't be a wizard present when someone gets mauled."

"Lily…" he sighed.

"The troll was already in the castle," she remarked. "Where and why?"

There was a moment of silence between them as they stared each other down. Lily's expression was an unclear one, but her eyes were intensely challenging. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and decided to answer.

"It was being kept in the dungeons," he admitted. "It was brought here the night before Halloween and we had not yet moved it."

"Why a mountain troll rather than a security troll?" she demanded.

Her question was a valid one, but one that he was reluctant to respond to. The trap he was setting on the third floor would only work if he kept the clearest details close to his chest. What would happen if he told Lily Potter the situation? Dumbledore could not be certain of whether she would interfere or simply not care. He watched the fabric around her elbows crease and tighten as she dug her fingers into her arms. She was waiting impatiently, but she would likely remain there until breakfast if she had to in order to receive the answer that she wanted. He debated with himself on how to respond, and in the end opted to tell her what he told his staff.

"I am protecting an item entrusted to me by a friend. A very important item. I cannot risk having intelligent guardians who would recognize its true value… as an item created by Nicolas Flamel."

He could only guess as to what she would do with the information, misleading or not.

**-()_()_()-**

"What about malaclaw venom?"

"Not a chance! That's expensive."

"How much money do we have left?"

"Let's see… only three sickles…"

Fred and George both groaned in dismay, already shredding and reforming plans in their heads. They had already snatched the potions vials from Snape, so at the very least they did not have to worry about that for awhile. Especially if their pockets were already dried up.

"Gred…"

"Yes, brother?"

"I think we need to find a new way to make some money."

"I guess scouring the floors for loose coins is a little tedious."

The pair fell silent for a spell, looking thoughtful. The one on the left pulled out a map.

"It can't be helped, Forge. Where haven't we checked today?"

George scanned the old piece of parchment, eyes flickering over the inked hallways and the labeled dots moving through them. _Mr. Moony would like to point out that you haven't been by the greenhouses yet._ George nodded slowly, reluctantly.

"Guess we'll be crawling in the dirt again today," he told his twin.

"Better get some gloves on," Fred agreed.

"Experiments don't fund themselves."

Despite their words they were still feeling a bit unenthusiastic about the whole affair. Good they may be, but a pair of thirteen year olds weren't going to get any serious funding any time soon. Any money they made had to be made however it could be managed. They had their resolve though. If they worked hard and had a lot to show for themselves when they _were_ around a respectable age, they'd stand out more. So, with a simultaneous sigh, they clapped each others' shoulders and checked the map again. It was a mere precaution, since they were in a rarely treaded area, but they were up to no good so it was better to be safe. There was a dot in the vicinity. One labeled Harry Potter.

"Girl-Who-Lived's brother?" Fred wondered.

"Looks like it," George confirmed.

They gave each other contemplative looks.

"He seems a lot nicer than her," Fred commented after a spell of silence.

"Chattier as well," George added.

_Mr. Moony would like to know if 'Harry Potter' is related to 'James Potter' by any chance._

"Why?"

"Must've been classmates, map's about that old."

"James Potter's his father," Fred told the enchanted script.

_Mr. Prongs is astonished at the news that he spawned!_

"Talking in third person really kills all seriousness," George mused.

"Never mind that!" Fred shook him. "James Potter is Prongs!"

"Could be Lily Potter," George suggested jokingly.

"It definitely could not be!" Fred rebutted.

_Mr. Prongs is deliriously joyful to hear that he married the Hellflower! _The twins paused and stared at the messy script. Then they stared at each other in apprehension.

"Hellflower?" Fred wondered.

"Can't say I've heard that one for her." George pondered. "Though I heard from dad that she was considered an 'invisible terror' during the war, whatever that means."

"Scary woman then?"

"Very likely."

They mulled over the exchange and looked back to the map at the dot that had not moved very far. They put the map away with a "_M__ischief managed!"_ and turned to the direction the first year was.

"Let's say we have a chat with little Potter?"

He was standing by a window not far from them. They could just make him out after they pushed aside the tapestry they were huddled behind. The twins approached the lone Slytherin, who turned slightly as they drew closer. The light of the afternoon sun flashed off of Potter's glasses, briefly concealing eyes that perfectly matched the green on his tie.

"Can I help you?" Potter asked.

They spared no time for small talk.

"What does 'Prongs' mean to you?" George asked faux-seriously.

"And don't say 'forks'!" Fred added vehemently.

Potter looked surprised, then understanding, and then amused. He grinned at them impishly.

"It means you're up to no good, of course," he said solemnly.

"He _is_ isn't he?" Fred whispered in wonder.

"I believe he _is_!" George responded considerably louder.

"Perhaps I _am_," Potter cut in wryly. "How'd you find it?"

His question was all the confirmation that they needed. Brief looks of excitement were traded before they gave their attention to the son of one of their idols.

"Nicked it from Filch in our first year," Fred admitted.

"Wasn't hard. He shouldn't let students clean his cabinets. All the protections are only on the door," George continued.

"That certainly explains why they were never able to get it back," Potter sighed. "Well, I should probably ask who you are before going on."

"Presenting Gred!" George gestured to the left.

"And Forge!" Fred motioned to the right.

"Or Fred and George if you must," George confessed.

"Weasley!" Fred finished.

They shook his arms enthusiastically and backed up to do a quick jig. Potter brushed his messy black fringe from his face, still looking at them in amusement.

"You're certainly just as upbeat as they are," Potter told them.

George finished their dance by spinning his twin around and pulling the map back out of his robes. He handed it to Potter as a final test, though he was reluctant to part with it. Fred slowly came to a stop and bounded back to his twin's side.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Potter murmured.

He smiled softly as the layout of the castle was revealed to him. Though the twins couldn't see it, they knew that the Marauders were scrawling their greetings across the parchment. Potter looked a little whimsical as he read, but became pleased when he looked over the map.

"It looks like Mell and Hermione are just getting out of the Hospital Wing," he remarked.

The twins sobered up immediately, hiding winces at the reminder. In all the confusion and excitement they had almost forgotten that two of their housemates had been injured last night.

"Oi," Fred began.

"Our brother… well..." George trailed off apologetically.

"We didn't hear about it until after."

Potter looked up in question, though they figured from the knowing look on his face that he already gathered what they were trying to say. His gaze was contemplative as he dropped it back to the map. He was scanning it thoroughly.

"Words can be fatal," He told them. "As wizards we should already appreciate that more than muggles. That's what my mother says. That's what she believes everyone should keep in mind."

Potter handed the map back to George with a small, odd smile.

"Mischief managed."

**-()_()_()-**

Camellia stretched and winced in anticipation of pain that didn't come. The night's rest and Madam Pomfrey's diligence had fixed her up as good as new. Healers really were brilliant when they knew what they were doing. She turned her head to the left and then to the right, groaning at the series of cracks and pops that erupted as a result. Hermione cringed at each one, though not in disgust for the action itself, as she followed up by cracking her back in a similar manner. Students passing them made faces that they couldn't help but laugh at.

"Mum always tells me it's a bad habitm" Hermione said sheepishly. "I can't help it though!"

Camellia shrugged. "My parents never said anything. They do it all the time."

Hermione rolled her shoulders and adjusted the strap of her heavy bag. They started walking in a random direction. Double Potions had let out about ten minutes ago, so they had no more classes that day. Camellia noticed that Hermione was walking slightly closer than usual. It was like something a clingy kitten would do. Was that how friends were supposed to be? In the end she brushed the thought off. If she remembered she would later ask her dad, who had many friends in school.

"Should we study?" Hermione asked.

"We only missed one class periodm" Camellia pointed out.

"Oh, but—"

"Harry was there," She interrupted. "He'll send his notes later if I ask."

A frown crossed Hermione's face. "He was acting oddly when he visited."

Camellia sighed. "Just… don't worry about that. When he gets like that, it's nothing unusual. He probably stayed up late again."

Hermione smiled cheekily. "Did he forget to eat an orange?"

"We never forget to eat our oranges," Camellia said dryly.

"You really love them don't you?" Hermione wondered. "You do eat at least one a day."

They ended up outside in one of the castle gardens. The one under the Ravenclaw tower, if the blue and yellow flowers were anything to go by. They bloomed all year regardless of weather, her mother told her once. The castle's ambient magic kept them going.

"We have an orchard at home, so you could say we've got a taste for them," Camellia explained. "It helps keep us mostly self-sufficient. Everything else can be owl-ordered or picked up in the Muggle World."

That reminded her that she hadn't read a newspaper all semester. Her mother didn't allow those delivered by owl though. Her father always brought them home after work. _The Quibbler's_ puzzles were a family pastime for them over the years. Every day after dinner they would gather in the family room or outside under a tree to work on them. Camellia smiled whimsically and Hermione seemed to marvel at the sight of it.

"It's rare to see you look happy," she commented. "You must have an amazing home."

"It's perfect," Camellia said with certainty.

Or as close to the definition as anything could get, she added silently to herself.

"Maybe… maybe you could visit sometime," she offered.

"I'd like to!" Hermione exclaimed. "I've never seen a magical home before. Magic doesn't work well with electronics, right? So everything runs on magic? What sorts of things are there?"

The inquiries that washed over her were the sorts of things Hermione would ask normally, but she strongly felt that something about their dynamic had changed. In the end, she could think of nothing that was overtly different, and shrugged it off to begin answering the questions before she forgot them all. Hermione would not stop unless she was cut off, something she wasn't sure she could always keep up with.


	6. Scouting Serised

**CHAPTER 06 - Scouting Serised**

Harry personally thought that the Weasley twins were like humbler hybrids of his father and godfather. They were bright, upbeat, and confident. Excellent companions, in other words, especially since they were willing to spoil him a little for his parentage. He found himself spending his Saturday afternoon with them. It was something that brought to mind the thought that he would need to learn to juggle his time better as his circle of acquaintances grew. For now Blaise was not high maintenance (despite what others thought) and Mell and Hermione had each other occupied at most times, so he wasn't overly concerned. Harry paused, noting that the twins had stopped. He was pretty sure that he could tell them apart already—George was more talkative and liked to explain things while Fred was a little more dramatic. That was just going by how they addressed each other though, so he knew that he could be dead wrong.

"This one here's the one you need to watch out for," George remarked.

"When it's occupied anyway," Fred added.

They gestured at a portrait of a gleaming mahogany dining table laden with many luxury dishes. The matching chairs were all unoccupied, but the one at the head of the table was the only one pulled out for. Harry memorized it for future reference. The engraving on the frame read The Lonesome Glutton.

"What does the subject look like?" he asked.

"Fat old man," George said with a snort.

Fred tapped the silver frame. "Balding on top, but he's got a _crazy_ mustache."

"I'll keep it in mind," Harry assured them.

He was acutely aware of the Transfiguration essay that he had sitting, incomplete, on his bed. However, he had grown bored of it and left to take a walk around the castle to stimulate his brain. He stumbled across the twins soon after reaching the ground floor, though he suspected it was a deliberate encounter on their part. They offered to show him some of Hogwarts's ins and outs. It was something he wasn't about to turn down. Though he knew _of _a number of shortcuts and secret passageways thanks to his father's renditions of his adventures, he wasn't entirely sure of their precise locations. The twins were, having found the Marauder's Map in their first year. Harry followed them down the next hall, noticing that their grins were growing.

"The most interesting thing this year is down here," George explained.

"We ran into it a few weeks in," Fred continued.

George rubbed his hands together as they approached an inconspicuous door and Fred pushed it in with a flourish. Harry stepped through the threshold to find the ex-classroom very barren, save for the ornate mirror in the very center. There was no dust to be found, which meant that it was frequented at least semi-frequently by a member of the staff. The twins skipped to it and peered deeply.

"Still the same as last time," George announced.

"Well it's not like we've drastically changed in two months," Fred retorted.

"The mirror shows your dreams," George told him with a grin. "Or _ambitions_, rather, as you little snakes would say."

"Erised… stra ehru… oytube… cafruoyton… wohsi…" Harry muttered.

"Clever isn't it?" Fred nudged him playfully.

"Backwards words on a mirror," George gave him a clap on the back.

Harry approached the mirror at a tempered pace. He wasn't sure exactly how it would portray what he wanted, and he _knew_ what he wanted. He would be honestly stunned if his heart reflected anything else. The glass rippled and a whole new world came to life behind its surface. Harry felt that he might fall in if he moved the wrong way. Right into the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It looked much the same as it currently did. The four House tables were brimming with chattering students and hundreds of dishes while the staff table loomed over them all. The people were different though. He recognized none of the students, though some looked vaguely familiar, and several of the professors were new. Most notably was the seat Snape sat in—it was occupied by his mother, looking as smug as he'd ever seen her, and slightly older. His mother's friend, Brenna Ethel, was also there dressed in a healer's robe, chatting softly with Madam Pomfrey. An unfamiliar man was the Defense instructor and Harry made sure to remember his face. Dumbledore was not there. The Headmaster's seat was empty. As Harry watched, he saw the students all turn to face where the double doors were, where he was standing. They all smiled widely and waved at him, mouthing _good evening, Professor _before returning to their food and conversation.

"That's pretty brilliant," Harry breathed, grinning.

Could he make it all come true? That was the question and he intended to answer it positively. The twins were staring expectantly when he turned around.

"Interesting isn't it?" George asked.

"Gets me motivated!" Fred rocked back on his heels. "I'm ready to go knut hunting again just from seeing that. You, Harry?"

"It gets me motivated, sure," Harry agreed. "Though I can't say I have any need for money right now."

His family was rich. That was no secret. Harry knew that he and Mell both could go their whole lives without working so long as they stayed in the same house. It would be boring though, a sentiment shared by their parents who sought some form of employment to keep themselves busy. The Weasleys on the other hand… if it weren't for magic they would be a whole lot worse off. Still, the twins were exceptionally optimistic despite everything.

"Let's say we burn off some extra energy," George suggested. "Say, a little practical joking!"

"That's all well and good, brother, but we're all out of practically everything… and that's no joke," Fred said sadly.

"Nonsense! There must be something!" George pulled an exaggerated frown and tapped his head.

"By George, there's nothing in there!" Fred moaned, slapping his face.

"Don't hit me, Gred. I'll have you know there's plenty in here," George claimed.

"Plenty of what?"

"Fluff!"

Harry's neck was protesting just from trying to keep up with which brother was speaking. He felt his lips fighting to curl upward. It had been a thought of his to introduce them to Camellia, but really they might be too much for her. Having to live with one Marauder and getting frequently visited by two more… their house was hectic when everyone was home. She was fond of them all, but often retreated to the library and locked herself in after less than two hours of exposure. Harry sighed and shook his head.

"What about you then, Harry Potter?" George asked dramatically.

"Surely you must have a nefarious plot," Fred determined.

He had several, but he wasn't telling them that after knowing them for no more than five hours total. Then again, they were older, more capable students. They were familiar with the ins and outs of the school. They were obviously troublemakers and therefore likely to have some skill in diversions. Harry gave them appraising looks.

"I think I need to stew on that," he said finally.

The brothers sighed and flopped against each other, looking woeful.

"Back to the thinking pot, brother," Fred dug around in his obviously enlarged pockets.

"If you think of anything, don't hesitate to tell us!" George insisted.

Harry only offered a secretive smile in response and decided to give it a week.

**-()_()_()-**

James sidestepped a root that was growing out of a corner. It seemed to shrink back in disappointment.

"Sorry, sorry!" he told it cheerfully. "Try again some other time."

Just for that he made sure to take extra care going down the stairs. They came alive sometimes in response to anything they thought of as a taunt. He still wasn't over the incident where he was almost eaten by an overgrown yubana flower that shot down from the ceiling. It taught him an all important lesson—how to avoid the '_they never look up' _trap. He couldn't help feeling smug knowing that the plant's dried out fruit was now a container for dirty clothes and took every opportunity he could to throw his pants into it, despite (or maybe because of) Lily's assurance that it was no longer alive in any way.

"Lily!" he called. "Are you in the kitchen again?"

He heard the glass door to the patio slam open in response. She was lounging around outside again, then. James dodged another mischievous plant and made his way to his wife.

"What's going on out here?" he wondered.

Lily was sprawled on the grass surrounded by a number of tools. He didn't recognize all of them, but then didn't expect to. His expertise was in transfiguration and defense. Just about everything else could be left to his better half. What he _did_ recognize, however, were the bulls-eyes. He blinked at them in bafflement and warily approached. She was always doing these sorts of things.

"You look… occupied," he greeted.

She rolled her eyes. "Help me make more. You're better at transfiguration."

He plopped down next to her. "What are we making?"

The wooden blocks she had laid out looked vaguely like misshapen dummies. James scratched a cheek, feeling a little lost.

"Camellia had to fight a troll already," Lily reminded him, "and Harry is concerned about how second year, or even the next term, is going to be if they're running into four-X class beasts within the first two months."

"So these…?" He gestured at the clutter.

"Make them look like something dangerous," she ordered.

James suppressed a chuckle and took out his wand. A few wordless twists were all he needed to make a manticore, hippogriff, and dragon. He marveled at his work in satisfaction. Lily glared at him.

"You're a show off!" she groused.

"You're jealous," he retorted.

He watched her fiddle with a chart full of runes and numbers for a few minutes. She looked focused, so he waited until she put it down again before telling her what he came down for.

"Remus is coming over today."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "I don't mind, of course, but usually he gives a day's notice."

James shrugged awkwardly. "I think he got fired again."

"Tell him to just move in with us." She picked her scroll back up.

It was a pretty standard response. James ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, knowing that if he _did_ tell Remus, again, he would only be turned down, again. He picked at some grass by his side, wishing the man was a little less stubborn. It wasn't like they didn't have the room or resources. He didn't need to keep taking low-paying jobs that kept dismissing him for being absent a week or two every month.

"So are these training dummies?" he asked.

"Yes," Lily responded shortly. "I'm going to put the targets on the vital areas. Harry and Camellia can practice during their breaks."

This time he didn't hold back the laugh.

"They're never getting a break again, are they?" he mused. "Better make sure they know they asked for it if they complain."

Lily hid a smirk but he saw it anyway. It was an exaggeration, he knew. She could be a taskmaster but would never push their children hard enough to break them or the twins would be allowed to go more than forty meters into the forest. They'd probably be running up and down the mountain everyday, if Lily was that forceful. The dummies would be toned down until the kids were older. They probably wouldn't do more than dodge. He tugged on her braid until she huffed and swatted him off.

"I'm done with you. Go play somewhere else," she told him.

James reached for her hair again. "Oh? And what if you need my transfigurating expertise while I'm busy entertaining Moony?"

"I'll fetch you then," she said dryly, dodging.

He fell to the ground and landed in a small pile of dissected newspaper. It was an old edition, one from early September, containing updates about the Gringotts break-in that happened over the summer. James fiddled with the article a bit, but put it down shortly after; he'd already read it and it didn't concern him. He wasn't on the team investigating.

"Remus is here," Lily announced.

James rolled over and got to his feet. "Planning to put him to work as well?"

She shrugged. "Depends on how depressed he is. Go get him some chocolate or something."

"Yes ma'am!" He saluted.

He headed back inside, knowing that his friend was likely still in the family room where the fireplace was. A root tripped him on the way.

**-()_()_()-**

"How've yeh been, Harry?" Hagrid poured two cups of tea.

Harry took a sip. He hoped the boy liked it. He brewed it using some herbs that Pomona had given him yesterday.

"A little busy," Harry replied. "There's a lot of homework to do."

Hagrid smiled at the complaint, feeling a little nostalgic. "I remember it well. Don't miss that part o' school, I tell yeh."

Though he certainly wouldn't have objected to it ever again if only he hadn't been expelled. He took a swig of his tea and bit into a rock cake.

"Well, it's not due until next week," Harry said offhandedly. "So I'll just relax for now."

Harry dipped a rock cake into his tea before eating it. Hagrid noticed that all of his visitors did that when he served the snacks. He personally thought the tea took over the flavor, but figured that everyone had their tastes. As long as his guests were happy, that was all that mattered.

"S'long as yer keepin' yer grades up, Harry," Hagrid told him agreeably. "No harm in takin' a break."

Harry smiled in response. He smiled just like Lily did, sweet and friendly. Hagrid wondered how he got into that rugged Slytherin house… but decided that it didn't matter. Some of that lot was alright. They just had big dreams was all.

"I was actually researching some other creatures," Harry went on. "Dad said I could have another pet, so I was trying to decide what to get."

Hagrid grinned. "Bet yeh'd like a dragon, eh Harry?"

"Of course!" He exclaimed. "But that's a little illegal and dad's an auror. He lets some things slide… well I didn't say that. I was thinking maybe a hellhound—"

Hagrid coughed and felt a little panicked.

"—since Sirius keeps getting into my sweets, you see, so having a guard would be nice. I'm not sure that mum would allow it though…"

"Why a hellhound?" he asked.

Harry looked a little confused. "They're supposed to be brilliant guardians, aren't they? Or are the books wrong?"

"So it's not abou' Fluffy…" he sighed, feeling calmer.

"Fluffy?" Harry echoed, bewildered.

"No need ter worry abou' that!" Hagrid backtracked.

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Hagrid, do you have a hellhound somewhere?"

"I'm not s'posed ter say," he insisted shiftily.

Harry polished off his tea, so he busied himself refilling it to avoid looking at those curious eyes. Just like Lily's, those eyes. She could get anyone to do anything with those eyes. Hagrid didn't doubt for a second that Harry was the same way. He wondered about Camellia and hoped that he could meet her sometime. She seemed like such a shy girl.

"Are they very difficult to take care of?" Harry asked.

"Nah, just play a little music an'… no, wait. Not s'posed ter say nothing," he muttered.

"You're just acting more suspiciously by saying that!" Harry laughed.

Hagrid grinned sheepishly and ate another cake.

"I'm asking you because you know a lot about magic creatures. _No other reason,_" Harry insisted.

"The pups are easy to raise up if yeh do it right," Hagrid allowed. "They like music. Jus' gotta teach 'em who's good and who's not."

Poor Fluffy wasn't getting any attention up there. Hagrid felt bad for his little friend, but Dumbledore needed Fluffy's help and Fluffy was a hellhound. They were born to guard precious treasures. Nothing more precious than Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone, for sure. He was going to have to spoil the pup when the year was done. Speaking of which…

"They like them Bits 'O Bubbles," he added.

Harry looked floored. "Bits 'O Bubbles? The dog treats?"

"They're 'is favorites," Hagrid nodded. "All dogs love 'em."

Fluffy could eat those day in and out. It was a good thing they were safe for dog's to eat constantly. They were very healthy snacks—genius inventor, that Gillian Insana. Any kind of canine would love those treats.

Harry nodded slowly. "I should keep that in mind then."

Hagrid beamed at him. Then he remembered what he had actually called Harry down for.

"I let yeh get me off topic," he said.

"Sorry about that," Harry apologized.

Hagrid waved it off. "I sent yeh that note because I'm on patrol at the forest borders today."

Harry's eyes grew wide and hopeful.

"Wanted to know if you'd like ter join me."

"Of course I'd love to!" Harry said happily.

"Righ', then. After we finish our tea."

Hagrid picked up his mug and Harry did the same. They finished the drinks in record time.

**-()_()_()-**

The information about the now identified Fluffy was unexpected and very welcome. Harry was practically skipping behind the mammoth groundskeeper as they went to fetch the crossbow and satchel. He wasn't very good at any instruments, though he could play some random notes in sequences he thought sounded nice, but his mother had some music boxes that she might let him borrow. Harry watched as Hagrid shouldered his bag full of arrows, snacks, and some basic healing potions and turned to grin at him.

"Ready ter go now?" Hagrid asked rhetorically.

"Definitely," Harry answered anyway.

They were going to stay toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but even that was deep enough in to bring a smile to his face. The air was heavy with magic and smelled very sweet, like newly bloomed yubana flowers. It wouldn't last very long. The flowers wilted quickly as the fruits rapidly matured. Harry thought it very sad on one hand, but on the other thought it very lucky for his father who had almost been eaten by a very animated one that his mother brought home from a friend's house before.

"Been goin' on more patrols lately," Hagrid mentioned conversationally.

"Is something going on around here?" Harry asked pointedly.

He had realized very quickly that Hagrid was quick to spill information. He hoped that it was a trait that only surfaced around people the man trusted, but knew that it most likely didn't work that conveniently.

"There's been some odd things goin' on 'round here," Hagrid explained. "Been seein' someone wanderin' 'round the forest borders. Too big ter be a student, see."

Harry considered the information as he looked around. It didn't put a damper on any of his plans to wander the forest on his own some time, though he did consider bringing Camellia along if he could sneak her out. He nimbly hopped over an overgrown root in the well-trodden path he and Hagrid were walking along. The trail wasn't clearly visible from outside of the forest despite being so close to the edge. The trees were huddled closely together and lined with shrubs. Everything was wild and natural looking—there was no sign of trimming or domestication. It was a look that his mother preferred as well. The only trees she tended were the ones they harvested for food. Everything else was allowed to grow as they pleased.

"Is it very dangerous to wander around here alone?" Harry wondered.

"Stickin' to this path, not so much," Hagrid informed him. "Just don' go strayin' off or the centaurs'll get yeh. They don' like humans."

There were no centaurs around Gaea's Mane. He remembered his mother telling him that. She said they _'weren't compatible_' with the area, but didn't explain why. There were a lot of things about their home that she was vague about. Everyone always shrugged it off because she knew her plants. It was in her blood, she claimed. Harry didn't think he inherited those talents to the extreme that his mother did. He stopped by an odd looking plant and frowned. It had a bright yellow flower pointing down at the grass that was shaped like a bell, but he could vaguely see tiny red fangs peeking out from the lips. The stem and leaves were blue.

"Primaribell?" Harry muttered.

He picked up a twig and waved it near the plant. It struck like a snake and gripped like a vice. Harry grinned and tugged at the stick, amused. The flower gnawed it until it snapped, leaving Harry with a considerably smaller piece of wood. It spat out the rest, looking petulant. If it had eyes Harry imagined it would be giving him a pouty glare. Something like the expression Sirius would get when Lily denied him thirds of dessert.

"What're yeh doin' playin' with that?" Hagrid asked.

"Mum grows these for her potions," Harry laughed. "Mell and I play with them all the time."

"That so?" Hagrid's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Well don't let it get yer fingers."

"Dad did," Harry told him. "He does it a lot. Mum's pretty good at reattaching fingers and toes now."

"Sounds like summat James would do," Hagrid mused. "Always getting' in trouble. Nice ter know some things don' change a bit."

They moved on. Harry listened with rapt attention to every detail Hagrid shared with him. The sixth years gathered potions ingredients off of the path marked with a blue ribbon, the path marked with a red ribbon was off limits (Harry made particular note of the location), the orange heart shaped berries were poisonous to humans; the groundskeeper was a wealth of information. Harry was only slightly disappointed to learn that there were no chimeras around.

"There're manticores though," Hagrid said. "Jus' a few, way deep in. Been thinkin' bout going in and gettin' one."

"I don't think the students could handle one quite yet if you kept it by your house," Harry pointed out.

Hagrid sighed in disappointment. It sounded a bit like a great gust of wind.

"The Care o' Magical Creatures class is goin' too soft on 'em," The man muttered glumly. "Old Kettleburn's been playin' safe since he's lost so many limbs. Yeh wouldn'ta recognized him if you saw 'im fifty years ago."

"I've heard from dad that people mellow out when they get old," Harry said.

"Right he is," Hagrid nodded. "Fer the most part. Dumbledore's still goin' strong and he's well over a hundred."

His parents didn't think Dumbledore was still going particularly strongly. His mother in particular thought that he was losing his touch. Harry couldn't be sure of these things himself, as he had yet to interact with the man, though he didn't really see how Dumbledore had lost focus. He was in a lot of powerful positions… but then again, even with the beliefs Dumbledore had about equality and fairness, things weren't very fair because he was outnumbered by conflicting opinions. Maybe that was what they meant. Harry shrugged and stepped over a fallen tree that was stretched over the path.

"Haven't gotten ter pickin' those up yet," Hagrid grumbled. "Trees that fell over durin' the storm."

Harry wondered if his parents had to pick up any fallen trees. He and Mell always helped by collecting the smaller pieces. The littler branches were usually transfigured into baubles for them to decorate their rooms with. Harry sighed as his mind wandered back to the essay that was still resting patiently in his room. He didn't have anything else to do to put it off after this. What a hassle.

**-()_()_()-**

Camellia and Hermione had both finished their Transfiguration essay in record time, mere hours after receiving the assignment in fact. Their wanderings, unlike Harry's, were the result to genuine free time rather than procrastination.

"Are you sure we don't need to revise anything?" Hermione chewed her bottom lip in worry.

"We're fine," Camellia rolled her eyes. "The Wizarding World isn't all about just studying magic so take a break."

Hermione looked a little sheepish at the admonishment.

"I'm sorry," She said.

Camellia shrugged it off. Hermione was muggleborn and obsessed with studying. It probably couldn't be helped and didn't matter much anyway. The pair strolled through the double doors that led outside. They were always spelled to stay open during days with nice weather. It was a simple convenience, though it wasn't like the doors were heavy, despite their appearance.

"It's getting chilly," Hermione remarked, shivering.

She thought about it a moment. "Feels fine to me."

"You're used to being outdoors though!" Hermione protested.

Camellia snorted. "Maybe you need to get out of the library more often."

"I _can't_!" Hermione insisted. "I haven't read all of the books yet. There are some on the top shelf that I can't reach and I can never find the ladder and I'm not sure _when_ I'm going to be allowed into the Restricted Section."

"You call the ladder," Camellia sighed.

"What?" Hermione froze.

"The ladder. You call it. You tap the shelf and say 'I need a ladder' and the shelf's ladder will find you," she explained patiently.

Hermione was quiet for a long minute, lost in thought. She didn't even notice her bag's strap slowly inching off of her shoulder. Camellia's eyes tracked its progress.

"Really?" Hermione asked softly.

"Really," Camellia confirmed.

"Oh I'm so _stupid_! How could I not realize that? We're in a magic castle; of course it works like that. What was I thinking?" Hermione jerked her bag back to its proper place.

"Try not to think in a straight line when it comes to magic," Camellia told her dryly, "since logic's a little different here."

Hermione flushed and ducked her head, hiding her pink face behind a frizzy curtain of hair. Camellia didn't understand why she didn't just tie it back everyday. It looked itchy. Then again, she probably just couldn't be bothered to take away any more reading time than she already did to eat and talk.

"I'll try," Hermione said. "It's very difficult to switch mindsets though, I'll have you know."

"You'll manage," Camellia responded. "My mother's muggleborn and she turned out fine."

Many people disagreed, but who cared about them anyway?

"Then I'll do my best," Hermione promised with a smile.

They moved to make their way down the stone steps leading to the grounds, but were stopped by a familiar voice calling out to them. Hermione seemed to shrink and Camellia spun around with a dark glower.

"Granger!"

Ron Weasley stopped a few feet from them, panting slightly. Camellia opened her mouth to say something, but was taken aback by his next words.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted.

He looked uncomfortable and his ears were close to the same shade as his hair. It made him look ridiculous.

"I'm sorry that you had to fight a troll because of me!" He looked petrified by the mere thought. "You're only pushy 'cause you're smart."

Camellia and Hermione both furrowed their brows at the declaration.

"I didn't mean for you to nearly…" He took a deep breath. "To nearly die because I didn't pronounce _leviosa_ right."

"Um…"

Hermione looked helplessly over to Camellia, who shrugged at her in equal bemusement. Neither of them had really seen Weasley since Halloween afternoon and didn't have a clue what could have prompted him to approach them now. Camellia briefly accused her brother, but killed the thought before it could take root. She didn't want to become paranoid that he was behind every little thing that happened around her.

"So I'm going to practice the incantations better from now on and never make fun of you again," Weasley finished.

He looked rigid and very uncomfortable, like he was unused to apologizing, but he did also seem ashamed. It was a little embarrassing to look at, honestly, so Camellia hid her face in her palm.

"Well I… um..." Hermione struggled with her words. "Thank you for… not meaning for me to nearly die."

Camellia screwed her eyes shut and tried to pretend she wasn't hearing the increasingly awkward interaction.

"Er… thanks for not thinking I'm a git," Weasley replied.

"I do think you're a git," Hermione corrected. "Only you're not… an unrepentant git. So I accept your… apology."

Weasley sighed in relief. "That's great."

"Yes, well… have a good day," Hermione said stiffly.

"Yeah. Good afternoon," Weasley ran off.

"Camellia?" Hermione prodded.

"What that his idea of an apology?" she wondered, voice muffled.

"It was genuine at least," Hermione sighed. "If he was polite throughout it all I'd think it was scripted."

"It still could be scripted," Camellia told her.

"He wouldn't be able to act to save his life," Hermione sniffed. "Now let's go for a walk. I don't think I could read right now anyway."

Camellia watched her friend take off at a brisk pace down toward the lake and, while observing, saw Harry's distant form vanish into the Forbidden Forest with the groundskeeper. She huffed, knowing that he was likely scouting for a later venture. One that he would no doubt ask her to join him for, not understanding that some people actually slept more than five hours a night. She hid a smile and chased Hermione down. Whenever he chose to go, she hoped it was a weekend so that she could sleep in the next day. And for his sake. He was probably way behind on all of his assignments.


	7. Hell on a Leash

**CHAPTER 07 - Hell On A Leash**

She had decided several years ago that, when dealing with Harry, it was best to assume that he was up to something. Her first concrete clue that he really, truly was up to something was the package delivered to him by a shrewd looking crow at breakfast. It contained what looked like a box of Bits 'O Bubbles dog treats, though he stowed it away quickly enough. Camellia frowned at him and, as she had done many times before, chose to not think about it too deeply. Sometimes it was better not to get sucked into his plots. She pulled a face that Hermione was quick to notice.

"Is something wrong?"

"It's a twin sense," she grumbled, waving off the question.

Hermione's eyes drifted to the Slytherin table, seeking Harry out. She was curious about him now. Ever since skipping History to play with cards in a cave by the lake. If she were honest with herself (and she generally wasn't) Camellia did want to do it again. With some game other than exploding snap. Binns was _boring_. It was a free period with a drone in the background rather than a real class. While grateful for the chance to read, she still found the ghost irritating.

"Is it stronger with magical twins?" Hermione wondered.

Harry had a mischievous smile on his face and looked to be teasing Zabini. Camellia felt a jolt and wondered why Harry hadn't bothered to introduce his friend yet. Then she scrapped the thought. She wasn't interested in anyone else.

"Yes," Camellia said shortly. "It's bothersome."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "I don't have any siblings. It's a little lonely sometimes."

Camellia grimaced. "When he's in a scheming mood he makes me wish I was lonely."

"He seems nice though!" Hermione protested.

She had to look away from that earnest face to hide her laugh. It came out anyway, which bothered her. Usually she was better at keeping those in. Hermione was getting to her.

"You'll see…" Camellia assured her ominously.

Hermione looked doubtful. Honestly, she wasn't sure how Harry managed to do it. So many people always saw the best in him, the inital reaction to his sorting nonwithstanding. Her classmates had been, for the most part, joking. She stole a look to her brother again and thought that maybe it was just because they were related that she could tell when he was acting fishy.

"What's it like?" Hermione asked.

Camellia turned back to her. She had that look about her. The one where she wanted to know something but was nervous about asking, which meant that it was a personal question.

"What?"

"Growing up with a twin... growing up magical," Hermione clarified.

Living with Harry was… well. Ignoring that, what kinds of things would a muggle-raised girl want to know about? There were books about household spells and upkeep enchantments all over the library. They weren't even high enough up that the ladder would be needed, so she was sure Hermione had at least skimmed over those.

"Having a sibling just means having unavoidable company," she said dryly to the first point.

Company that was usually good but sometimes very, very bad. Like his company now would no doubt be. She kept wondering what he was plotting. This wasn't like home, where there weren't many people to pull one over. This was a school. Harry had access to strangers. The thought pleased and worried her. He could torment them all he wanted, she just hoped that he didn't get into trouble.

"It can't be that bad," Hermione sighed.

Camellia shrugged if off. "Was there anything you were thinking of? I don't know how different the magical and muggle words are for growing up."

"Ooh, I don't know."

Hermione chewed her lips in thought. It was a bad habit. They were going to swell and it was going to be uncomfortable.

"What's your house like?" Hermione tried.

"Alive," Camellia answered dryly. "I suppose it'd be considered big as well."

"Alive?" Hermione echoed.

"It likes to trip dad up a lot," Camellia continued. "He's gotten really good at dodging—which is good for an auror—but it's only encouraging everything to try harder."

"What?" Hermione looked confused. "Is it like Hogwarts?"

Camellia mulled over that for a moment but then shook her head.

"Different kinds of magic. I don't know the details. It's all advanced, complex magic. I think the beginners' courses are open starting fourth year."

Of course Hermione looked excited by the information. Camellia took a sip of the juice in front of her, already feeling tired of talking.

"I've read all the class listings," Hermione told her. "There really are a lot of things to do here, aren't there? What kinds of magic are you talking about? In fourth year the new classes are… Ghoul Studies, Earth Magic—"

"Those." Camellia quickly cut her off.

Hermione was about to say more, but the again interrupted. The bell signaling the end of breakfast went off and sent everyone scrambling. Camellia knew without a doubt that her friend was just going to put the conversation on hold and get back to it later. Too bad she wasn't going to be able to give detailed answers. It wasn't like she knew everything about magic just from living in it for eleven years.

**-()_()_()-**

There had been questions that Harry had to field from some people. There really was no discernable reason for him to order dog treats due to the rules against bringing any canines as pets. Thankfully, his visits to Hagrid were hardly secret, and he was able to brush those curious people off with a misleading explanation that they were for Hagrid's beasts. It was hardly a lie. The treats were for Fluffy, Hagrid's pet. If they mistook that to mean that he would give the treats to Hagrid to give to Fang, it was not his fault. Harry meandered cheerfully down the hallways, feeling particularly pleased. Fluffy did indeed like the treats. Loved them, as a matter of fact. The hellhound loved them so much that Harry could now pet him with little trouble and it hadn't taken much. No doubt the fact that Fluffy was still just a pup had something to do with it. Hagrid did complain that he hadn't been able to spend as much time with his dog as he'd like so Fluffy was rather untrained. Easily influenced, in other words. Now he just needed to find the Weasley twins and make his move. As he had promised himself, he had waited a week to determine their trustworthiness and he did not find them lacking. He found them hiding behind yet another tapestry. The rough looking boots he could see from under the fabric gave it away. Good for them that the tapestry wasn't animated with anything sentient if they were going to be obvious. Then again, what they did that seemed obvious was just the cover layer hiding quieter plots underneath.

"I have a scheme," Harry announced by way of greeting.

Identical brown eyes stared at him in hope and wonder. Harry soon found the pair kneeling before him as though he were a king. They really could be so dramatic.

"Are you serious?"

"Do you swear?"

"I should be asking you those questions, if it's going to be like this," Harry said wryly.

"Forsooth," Fred smiled, standing.

"What've you got for us, little schemer?" George asked.

Harry reached into his bag to pull out the box of dog treats that he carried around with him. It was almost empty, but there was enough left for what he intended. He presented it to the twins.

"I'll bet you've already met Fluffy," Harry said. "So I'm not going to explain that."

"Fluffy?" Fred choked.

"Sounds like something our friend Hagrid would name it," George muttered thoughtfully.

Harry's lips curled into cattish smile. "Everyone has their quirks."

"What's the plan, Mister Potter?" Fred asked.

"I feel a bit sorry for Fluffy," he said semi-mournfully. "I don't know how many times you've been up there, but I've been up there a lot. He's pretty lonely. I can't stand it."

Even the strong stone floor couldn't hold against those massive claws. There were gouges in the floor. The room always held the faint odor of waste and unwashed dog, so he was sure that Fluffy wasn't bathed regularly and that messes were vanished only once a day. Harry honestly was a bit peeved. He certainly wouldn't be so lackluster if that were his dog. He knew Hagrid wanted better for his beast, but the groundskeeper really needed to speak up or do something on his own if he wanted anything to happen.

"So let's go play with him, okay?" He finished, grinning widely.

He didn't need to say more. The implications dawned on the redheaded duo very quickly and very obviously if their 'O' shaped mouths were anything to go by.

"You're a mad one," Fred said with certainty.

"What did you expect?" Harry asked.

They shrugged.

"It sounds like fun. So what's our game?" George prompted.

The three got down to business.

**-()_()_()-**

Harry Potter was an interesting little first year. He was the son of one of their idols, a bold and shameless schemer, and a twin. He reminded them very strongly of themselves, they realized once they thought about it. He was a kindred spirit, a like mind. For that, they decided they would keep their eyes on him and see what he would do. If he turned out more like them than he already seemed, even better. If he decided that they were good enough friends to be charitable to… even, even better. Fred and George Weasley were not like their other siblings or their parents. If offered a knut, they'd take a sickle if they could. Not just money-wise either. Which was why, after a long stretch of boredom, they found themselves slinking up to the third floor with this grinning first year. It wasn't like they didn't have plans of their own. They had plenty. The problem was that mischief like they had plotted cost money they didn't have.

"These are friends," Harry cooed to the restless hound. "We're going to take you for a walk, how does that sound?"

They were met with wary barks, but they noticed that Harry was able to approach with no issues. He took out his box of dog treats and offered a morsel to each head.

"Help me get the chains. They're heavy."

"Right."

"Right."

They were heavy, but they would manage. Years of playing as beaters in and out of school could attest to that.

"Come on, Fluffy," Harry said. "Let's go play outside."

The hellhound looked deliriously happy as he was led out.

"Mrs. Norris and Filch are taken care of aren't they?" Harry asked.

"Of course," George replied. "Just a pinch of sleeping potion. They'll be out until morning."

"It is morning," Fred reminded his brother.

George waved it off. "_Morning_, morning. This doesn't count."

They were a little worried about going down the stairs, but it turned out that Fluffy knew how to get up and down them with ease. He hunched as if to bound to the bottom until Harry scolded him softly.

"Quiet, Fluffy, or we'll be caught and punished."

The middle head whined. It made them want to pet it, but they had to keep hold of the chains. Harry smiled encouragingly at them all and started moving again. The twins noticed that they were taking hallways with sentient portraits, but that somehow all the subjects were missing or fast asleep. The confused but relieved look on Harry's face told the twins that he probably wasn't behind it, and they knew that they weren't, but they dismissed it as a matter of luck. Absurdly _good_ luck. Luck was unreliable, but helpful when it happened.

"There we go," Harry murmured.

The midnight breeze hit them sooner than they expected.

"If we go near the Forest then Hagrid'll get us," George mused.

"Behind the greenhouses," Harry directed. "I already looked at them. They're clear, but there are so many plants around that you can't see through them at all."

"How long have you been planning this?" Fred wondered.

"Awhile," Harry said simply.

They lengthened the chains once they made it behind the rows of tall greenhouses and attached them to a stake in the ground. No sense in letting him get completely loose.

"Do you know how to play fetch, Fluffy?" Harry asked the beast.

He was fearlessly scratching its belly and the hellhound was reacting just like any puppy would, though the thumping of its kicking leg made the ground tremble in a way no crup could manage. The twins looked to each other. Then they shrugged, abandoned all caution, and joined their younger companion. Fluffy's fur was short and course.

"I don't think any of us are strong enough to throw a stick big enough for him," George whispered.

"Hold on," Fred nudged him. "What about…"

"That'll work!" George nodded.

The twins stood, drawing a curious look from Harry.

"What will?"

They grinned.

"Trust us," Fred told him.

"We'll be back real quick," George added.

"Can you handle it?" Fred asked.

Harry smiled and scratched between the right head's ears in response. Fred and George raced off to the Quidditch lockers. It was a place they'd broken into enough to get in and out and back to the greenhouses within ten minutes, carrying a heavy case between them. They dropped it with a thud, making Fluffy perk up and stare.

"Practice bludger!" Fred announced.

George unlatched the case. "It's the one Hooch had you firsties practice with on your third flying lesson."

The excitable Quidditch ball shot into the air and quivered. Fred took out a bat.

"Go fetch!" he exclaimed.

Shortly after the echoing _whack_ sent the ball flying, Fluffy was in pursuit.

"Do you think anyone will find it odd that the bludger has large tooth marks in the morning?" Harry mused.

"Nah," George denied, "that thing's been through hell and back already. A few more scratches won't hurt it any."

"Maybe if Fluffy breaks it they'll finally get a new one." Fred remarked.

"Not bloody likely," George replied, grabbing the other bat.

"Is there a third?" Harry asked.

"Enough for a class in here," George said, tossing him one.

Fluffy pounced on the bludger with a pleased bark and the left head shook it violently.

"Bring it back, Fluffy!" Harry called. "It's no fun if you hog it."

"We're going to get caught…" Fred muttered, but he was smirking.

"Come on now, it'll be the best thing on our detention records!" George laughed.

"If we're not expelled first," Fred pointed out.

"True," George said with a shrug. "Oh well."

They heard another _whack_ ahead where Harry had smacked the bludger that Fluffy finally released and took off in that direction.

"Oi, it's no fun if you hog it!"

**-()_()_()-**

At three past midnight, Dumbledore found himself woken up once again by the alarm blaring that someone had entered his office. He could think of no further offense to Lily Potter, so he very much doubted that she was paying him yet another visit. He spared a thought to what it could be this time, but in the end sighed and pinched the bridge of his crooked nose, hoping against hope that this wasn't going to become a habitual event. Nonetheless, he sat up and donned his glasses, ready to see what was waiting for him on the other side of his door. He was mildly surprised to see Severus pacing his office, obviously riled up. He was worried and angry, fuming even. It brought a grave frown to Dumbledore's face. His old friend had a famous temper, but he was rarely anxious. Whatever happened was likely a cause for concern.

"Severus?" he prompted gently.

"Headmaster!" Severus spun around sharply. "The hellhound is missing."

Dumbledore was taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"I checked on the third floor during my patrol and found the room empty. Even the chains are missing," Severus bit out.

As unbelievable as the report sounded, Dumbledore wasted no time in trying to rouse Fawkes to take them straight to the third floor, though it seemed that the phoenix was in one of his more difficult moods. If birds had the features with which to smirk, Dumbledore had no doubt that Fawkes would be doing so. One mischief-lit eye stared challengingly up at him.

"There is no time for this," he scolded the bird.

Fawkes trilled out a laughing tune and obeyed. He grabbed both men and, in a whirlwind of scarlet fire, brought them to their destination. Dumbledore strode to the door and found it locked. Severus narrowed his eyes at the knob. Dumbledore looked to him in question.

"I did not lock it behind me," he whispered darkly.

Severus's hand drifted to his arm where his wand holster was fastened. Dumbledore turned back to the innocuous looking door, opened it, and scanned the room. Then he let out a laugh and stepped back with a tiny grin. Scowling, the Potions Master entered. He saw exactly what he did. Fluffy was there, fast asleep, chains in place. It was no wonder Fawkes was so amused. He was connected to the castle and thus sensed no trouble here. Dumbledore shook his head at his own lack of trust in the bird. Fawkes was rarely incorrect. When Severus spun around with a fierce glower on his face, Dumbledore couldn't help but notice the violet smudges under his tired looking eyes. Perhaps that was the problem.

"I know what I saw," Severus told him. "It _was not there_, Headmaster!"

Fluffy stirred, growling softly, so Dumbledore maneuvered Severus out of the doorway and closed the room back up. Fawkes's claws dug into his shoulder as the phoenix readjusted his position. It was quiet save for his friend's harsh breathing. Dumbledore smiled, keeping the expression as soothing as possible. Severus was very volatile when upset and had to be handled carefully.

"Severus, perhaps you missed Fluffy's presence because he wasn't nipping at your heels like usual." He chuckled briefly at his own quip.

"Headmaster!"

"It seems our resident hellhound has the right idea," Dumbledore continued. "I think you just need a little more rest. You look exhausted."

"Are you telling me I was hallucinating?" Snape demanded.

Of course such an accusation would be an affront to the man. He prided himself on his prowess in the mind arts after all. Any question on that was a threat to his pride. Dumbledore tugged his nightcap back into place. His smile never wavered.

"Such things are possible for those who stay up this late every night," he responded calmly.

He led the spluttering professor away from Fluffy's room.

"Why don't you take us down to the dungeons, Fawkes, so that our friend here can get some sleep?" Dumbledore suggested.

Thankfully, this time, Fawkes did not dally. Perhaps the bird recognized Severus's need… or perhaps not, judging but the almost obnoxiously prominent glitter in his beady black eyes. He took them just before the portrait leading into Severus's personal quarters. The painting of the enraged cockatrice likely didn't help much with the mood Severus was in. Its expression was vastly similar to the one the young man was wearing.

"I'll have someone else patrol for this week so that you can catch up on your sleep," Dumbledore informed him.

"_Occam,_" Severus spat.

The portrait swung open. Severus stalked forward, but paused in the threshold.

"I know what I saw," he insisted once more.

Then he vanished into his rooms without another word. Dumbledore sighed and rubbed Fawkes's head.

"He can be so difficult sometimes," he mused fondly. "Come now; let us get back to bed as well."

They vanished in a plume of fire.

**-()_()_()-**

_Mum and Dad,_

_I mentioned the Weasley twins already, didn't I? Of course I did. I told you they were brilliant and I still think so. I think so even more than last week. They helped me out tonight. I really wanted to take Fluffy outside to let him relax a little. They came with me. We snuck him out and played fetch with the first years' training bludger. It was already torn up, so we don't think anyone will notice that there are a bunch of bite marks all around it now. I don't think I'm cut out to be a beater. My arms are so sore now… Fluffy was just like a puppy even though he's so huge. I wouldn't mind taking him home. You don't mind as long as I take care of him right? I can take care of him. I'm taking better care of him now than the professors are. I feed him and I've walked him now. I can't do it often here of course. I don't know how we weren't caught. I had so many plans lined up but I was prepared to be caught and punished severely. The strangest things happened though. Every hallway we went down, the portraits were sleeping soundly or empty. The ghosts all just barely missed us. A door opened up to a room for us to hide in just as Snape was checking on Fluffy's room during patrol. I'm not sure what to make of that. Do you think the castle was just in a good mood?_

_The twins and I had a lot of fun though. It was a wonder no one heard or saw us, even if it was past midnight. We weren't making any effort to be quiet once we got behind the greenhouses and Fluffy is so heavy that the ground shook every time he jumped. I guess we were just really lucky._

_Mell's been giving me odd looks all week though. Things have been busy all week so I haven't spoken to her much. I was behind on my assignments. I've caught up though, so don't worry! I will keep Mell company this week. The first Quidditch game is tomorrow though, and I know she's going to hide away in the library for it. I can't skip it. I want to see it for one, and for another there's no way I could get away with it even if I didn't. Blaise invited me. He's not interested in the game as much as the violence. He asked me to sit with him so that he wouldn't deal with Malfoy trying to talk to him. There's no way for me to leave him alone with that hanging over him. Malfoy's a pest. Besides, Mell has Hermione keeping an eye on her._

_Well, I should send this off. I just walked the twins back to the tower under the cloak and came straight here to the owlry. I should go to bed now. It's almost four in the morning._

_Love, Harry_

Lily had her head down, forehead to the table, but Remus could just make out the smile ghosting her face. He set the letter down and reached for his mug of cocoa. The sound of ceramic dragging along the wooden table broke the redhead out of her stupor. She sat up and rubbed her face, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Remus waited it out, mind going over the letter's contents. He was glad that Harry was having an easy time of making good friends, though the mention of Cosima Zabini's son worried him just a little. James had fretted over their apparent acquaintance for a while before Lily hexed him and told him to stop panicking over nothing.

"He's James's son," Lily declared once she controlled herself.

And hers; there was no way she could pin all of the responsibility on James. She took care of the disciplining—anything that Harry didn't know not to do was on her.

"Does this happen often?" he asked.

She snorted and gestured at the parchment. "I have the strongest feeling that this sort of report won't be a rarity. I'm going to need to teach him a number of privacy spells now. How reckless."

"Mmm." He took a sip and savored it.

"Camellia is well-behaved, but not really social," Lily commented. "Harry, on the other hand, is very social and very mischievous. Practically shameless. I wonder whose fault that is."

Remus looked innocently up to the ceiling where little vines were writhing like snakes. He took a long pull from his mug and sighed happily at the heavenly flavor. He neither knew nor cared just how Lily managed to make the drink. He probably didn't want to know. It was too good to ruin with technical talk of possibly questionable procedures. He returned his focus to her.

"You just said it, didn't you?" he reminded her. "He's James's son… though I see he takes strongly after you as well. And a number of others."

Lily grinned smugly. It was the same cattish expression that Harry often got when he was pleased. She waved her hand as if brushing off his observation.

"It's not a long list," she said.

"I honestly worry a little about his later years at Hogwarts," Remus said casually. "When I think about your activities…"

"Who are you worrying for?" Lily laughed. "Harry will be just fine. And if Camellia would climb out of her shell, think of the possibilities."

Remus smiled wryly. "I think of the possibilities of the Wizarding World no longer standing."

He playfully raised his mug. Lily mockingly raised her bowl of raisins in retort.

"No longer standing, sure, but kneeling." She said in an almost-purr.

Not for the first time, Remus wondered about his friend's childhood. She worried him sometimes.


	8. Peeking Around the Corner

**Advisory Whatever:** This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. _It has: _Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.

**NOTICE:** More minor descriptions added to previous chapters for things that can be considered trivial. An acknowledgement of the rashness of Dumbledore's move to directly question Camellia has been added. Alteration of the "twin-bond" to only include high-stress situations and serious injuries. Would have removed it, but I have some plans for it that would be troublesome to alter. They won't be teleporting to each other or doing any telepathy, ew. The scene with the unnamed Ravenclaw is removed—that little thing was stupid in retrospect. The Gryffindor crest is a lion… damn you, fanon, for corrupting my memories. I'm going to re-reread the books now like I've been meaning to.

**A/N: **Anyway, this was a pain to finish. Things got hectic, so I can't keep my weekly thing; RL can't be helped. And the Quidditch… yes it's a little rushed because detailing the game was a challenge. But Harry likes Quidditch, so it had to be written, was my logic. Dumbledore is not evil in this. I did initially toy with making fun of the uber-villain Dumbledore here, so there are traces of that, but I changed my mind because I hate reading it so felt stupid writing it. This was initially merely written to be contrary to all those fics that made me die inside after all (and I must say _ten_ reviews are more than I expected, let alone a hundred with a handful of helpful criticisms that I honestly enjoy reading). All my previous A/N things are gone due to editing, so I need to repeat the pairings thing it seems… right, let me see. Any Blaise/Harry, Hermione/Camellia, or Harry/Camellia you get out of this is… likely your brain messing with you. Or me, now, since they keep getting brought up. They won't actually happen though. This is long enough, so here's the chapter. The biggest yet, it looks like.

**CHAPTER 08 - Peeking Around the Corner**

"How about this one?"

She glanced up, grimaced, and averted her gaze back to her reading.

"If you want," Camellia said dismissively.

The book made only the softest of noises when Hermione gently put it down.

"You barely looked at it," Hermione chided.

Camellia shrugged. "Even if I told you it was a poor book you would read it eventually."

Hermione sighed and sat down. The book she brought over was Beast or Being: Ministerial Guide. It was a title that brought a frown to Camellia's face just to look at. They had a copy at home that she had chipped away at until she understood the gist of it. There were a lot of insults toward the nonhuman population, both subtle and not, buried within. She sighed, wondering why Hermione was asking for her opinion on so many books when she was planning to go back and read everything anyway.

"I was actually looking for more books by Morris," Hermione commented. "I haven't found many though. I picked this up on the way back…"

Camellia paused in her reading. Hermione began to flip through the introduction of the formal looking blue tome. She was reading startlingly fast considering the long-winded jargon that Camellia knew was printed within.

"Morris is pretty new," she said eventually.

"Could you recommend anything similar?" Hermione asked.

"For Charms?"

"For anything," Hermione clarified.

Camellia stood and circled a few towering bookshelves, leaving her bewildered friend to sit awkwardly waiting for her to return. It didn't take her long to skim the Potions section and grab what she was after. She casually dropped the book on top of the ministry guide. Hermione frowned at the pages that were wrinkled by the sudden weight, but turned her attention to the hefty newcomer.

"Deadly Mishaps and How to Instigate Them by E. N. Sage…" Hermione read. "Potions?"

"Sage is a Potions Master," Camellia explained. "There are only three books out right now though. I'm not entirely sure when the next will be written."

Hermione chewed her lips, as was her habit. She closed the book on beast classifications and moved to the one Camellia had recommended. Silence reigned for a blissful few minutes as they both read their respective texts. The library was as quiet as ever, though there was the occasional thump or tap from books closing or quills thoughtfully drumming the mahogany tables. They weren't the only ones more interested in the library than the game, but _were_ the only Gryffindors. Their housemates would probably accuse them of having no spirit.

"I'm actually a little curious about Quidditch," Hermione remarked after awhile.

"You could have gone to the game." Camellia reminded her.

"Well… it's bound to be crowded since most of the school is out there. If I got bored then it would be difficult to leave and too loud to read," Hermione said with a shrug. "What about you?"

"The noise," Camellia sighed. "Quidditch is only fun if you're the one playing. In the backyard. With few people watching."

Hermione looked ill at the thought. Flying lessons hadn't lessened her fear of heights any. It might have even increased it, for all Camellia knew, though she didn't understand how Hermione could live in a high tower with that kind of fear. Was it because of the walls? Well, she did suppose the tower was more secure than a broom, from a heights-hating point of view.

"Did Harry go?" Hermione wondered.

"Of course," Camellia answered immediately. "He promised Zabini, apparently, and wanted to go anyway. If you haven't noticed, he likes being around people."

Where he got it, she didn't know. Maybe from Sirius talking to him constantly about the world outside of their forest refuge. Harry always was enthralled by their godfather's stories.

"Zabini seems a little strange," Hermione murmured from behind the book. "Something about him is frightening."

Camellia pursed her lips at Hermione's comment. She had, in fact, asked her mother to refresh her memory of the Zabini family in an attempt to understand why Harry was so fascinated with his quiet classmate. Camellia had to wonder about her older brother—he was making wild picks. The son of an alleged serial killer and then the mad Weasley twins… just what kind of connections did he want or need? She made a face and turned back to her book, but didn't return to reading. Instead she was debating whether to tell Hermione what she knew. In the end she decided to do so. Hermione liked to be informed.

"His mother has been married three times," Camellia said bluntly. "Her rich husbands keep dying and leaving her their fortunes."

Hermione lowered the book and blinked owlishly at her over the spine.

"Pardon?" she asked.

"There's no evidence that she did it, but everyone talks," Camellia continued.

She didn't bother mentioning that, until she owled her mother, she hadn't been clear on what Zabini's background was herself and that she didn't have a clue who was talking.

"Oh," Hermione said quietly, at a loss. "And Harry… does Harry know?"

Camellia gave her a flat look. "Of course."

Hermione fiddled with her pages. "It's nice of him to give Zabini a chance then?"

Camellia shook her head and leaned back.

"You're stubborn," she sighed, almost inaudibly.

Why was Hermione so interested in Harry anyway?

**-()_()_()-**

The Quidditch pitch was painted haphazardly with the colors of many cloaks, banners, and hats. It wasn't quite cold enough for most of the students to be wearing scarves, though Harry did see a few. They were hard to miss, having been charmed to cycle through the colors of their respective houses. Anything the excited onlookers could do to cheer, they did it. It was the first game of the year after all, though Harry didn't feel any need to go further than throwing a green cloak over his usual black and grey uniform. With his smile in place, Harry flopped into a seat next to Blaise, who looked bored. His friend was present only for the likelihood of seeing violence and cheating, something just about guaranteed by the Slytherin team when they were up against Gryffindor. He wasn't going to be animate until the players were chasing each other around and even then would only be as animate as Blaise could possibly be. Harry grinned cheekily at the girl who had been aiming for his seat. She was one of Malfoy's friends, that Parkinson. Blaise didn't care for her at all, though it seemed the feeling wasn't mutual. She glared at him and stormed off. Blaise's eyes flickered briefly to her retreating back and then to Harry.

"So you are reliable," he stated.

"You're welcome," Harry replied.

Blaise's mouth curled up slightly but the expression was gone very quickly. Harry leaned back and settled in for a wait. He had arrived pretty early, not early enough to beat the more eager students (about half the population, it seemed), but the game wasn't set to start for another ten minutes or so. He would have shown up a little later, but knew that Blaise was an early bird.

"Apparently the Gryffindor seeker isn't as elite as their captain had hoped for," Harry mused. "The twins were telling me that she was really average compared to their brother."

"Higgs is average as well, by his own admission," Blaise pointed out. "The game will be long."

And full of fouls, blood, and possibly broken bones, Harry knew they were both thinking. Fred and George mentioned before that Madam Pomfrey was busiest after the games. She hated those three times of year and made it known. He would probably find out for himself if that was true by the end of the day. Snapping out of his thoughts, he noticed that the empty seat next to him was suddenly occupied by a familiar face.

"Good morning, Moon," Harry greeted.

"Morning, Potter," She smiled widely, though it became strained when she caught sight of Blaise. "Zabini."

Blaise raised an eyebrow at her and she ducked to hide her face. Her little hands took to nervously wringing her long braid. Moon obviously hadn't taken the seat to get close to Blaise, Harry noted with interest, but any further attempts at conversation were interrupted by the whistle trilling down on the pitch. Everyone quieted and looked down.

"Welcome to the first game of the year!" The commentator, a friend of the twins, began. "To my left we have… the bold, the beautiful, the wonderful Gryffindor team!"

A flood of red with golden accents strode confidently out of the locker rooms amidst the cheers of the audience. Fred and George were twirling their bats, which Harry knew to be in decent condition despite all the years they'd been in use. The twins told him that caring for their favorite weapons was always a priority and to keep it in mind when he found his own calling. Harry clapped lightly for their rival team. He noticed that only half of his house—including the expressionless Blaise and politely smiling Moon—did the same.

"And to my right… are the cheap and dirty Slytherins!"

The crowd's reaction was a mix of indignant cries, laughter, and cheering. Harry eyed up the announcers' seat to find McGonagall whispering harshly in the boy's ear. Though the area looked as unguarded as the rest of the seats in the stadium, he knew from his godfather that it actually had protections to rival the teacher's box that sat right behind it. Apparently there were incidents where the commentator's remarks were not appreciated and the offended players did something about it. Harry couldn't say that he himself was upset by the introductions. Slytherins were supposed to be cheap and dirty; he knew this before ever setting foot in the school. It was just that some were a little too obvious about it... He had an urge to look at Malfoy that he squashed.

"Madam Hooch starts us off with the usual command for a fair game—wasted breath if you ask me, when the snakes are involved," the boy with dreadlocks, who Harry suddenly remembered was Jordan, said.

McGonagall scolded him as the two captains met in the middle of the field. They shook hands with death grips and fierce faces. Harry wondered if they'd ever broken each others' bones like that before. Just from passing Flint in the common rooms he knew the sixth year was solidly built. Oliver Wood looked a little smaller, but Harry had yet to interact with him and couldn't be entirely sure. The players all got on their brooms at the second whistle and took off into the sky, spiraling like brightly hued birds. The gold and silver accents winked at all of the watching faces below.

"And we're off!"

The distance prevented Harry from getting a clear picture on who was who, though he had a couple vague ideas. Flint and Wood were easily spotted. In addition to their badges, captains had extra designs on their uniforms. Other than that, the beaters had their bats and Harry didn't know who everyone else was. Not yet, at least. He forced his whirring thoughts to slow down and told himself to just enjoy the game, since it was his first time at a live one.

"Flint has the quaffle and passes it to—nope, intercepted by Alicia Spinnet from Gryffindor. Our lovely Angelina Johnson takes it next, shoots, and is stopped by a speeding bludger!"

Harry watched the volatile bludger brush close enough to the girl's head to stir up her ponytail. The rush made her fumble, and one of the Slytherin chasers took the quaffle. From the corner of his eye he saw Blaise, who had slanted forward when he spotted the ball, recline again.

"Pucey scores; it's ten to zero! What're you doing, Oliver?"

The mix of cheers and boos was deafening. Harry looked around in interest at all of the riled up faces. It was energizing, nothing like the miniature backyard games he had been playing all of his life. Gazing back up, he saw the black girl that had almost been hit pass the quaffle to who he thought was Spinnet. This time the bludger sent their way was the shot back by one of the twins. Harry admired his precision, as the Slytherin beater spiraled erratically trying to dodge the ball that just narrowly missed his left arm.

"Bletchley moves to stop the quaffle, fails, and Gryffindor scores!"

The four giant scoreboards posted around the stadium flickered and changed to read 10:10 in green and red respectively. The chasers were zooming every which way. Passing, stealing, shooting. Above them all were the two seekers, circling the pitch like hawks, looking for a flash of gold. Harry scanned the air, but there was no sign of it yet. Must be hard, he mused, since the Gryffindors' secondary color was gold. The banners would make good camouflage for the little snitch. He was brought back to the other players by the roar that rippled through the audience. His head jerked around to see Spinnet clutching her bloody nose.

"_Foul_!" Jordan called.

There was a timeout long enough for Pomfrey to do a quick fix and the girl was back in. Hooch raised her hand and made several gestures to both teams. The quaffle was given to Johnson.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

Johnson made the penalty shot and Moon turned to answer him.

"Flint elbowed her in the face," she said with a frown.

"I see," Harry said simply.

He leaned back against his chair to support his neck. The wood dug in uncomfortably, but he ignored it in favor of watching the seekers both dive at once in pursuit of the now faintly visible snitch. The girl in red was stopped by Pucey, who locked his broomstick handle around hers and jerked her off course. Could he be more obvious? Harry shook his head, but watched in interest. If the seeker had been quicker, she could have gotten out of that. How was up to the situation, but Harry had practiced in his backyard enough that he was confident that he could have done it.

"_Again_ with the cheating!" Jordan yelled exasperatedly. "You Slytherins just don't know when to let up!"

McGonagall had a hold of his uniform collar and was towering over him again. Hooch called for another free shot to Gryffindor.

"After that plainly obvious blurt, Alicia puts away the penalty, and the game goes on. Thirty to forty, everyone, and the snitch is missing again."

"Who do you think will win?" Moon asked.

She was tugging her braid and swishing it around restlessly. Harry tilted his head in consideration.

"It's only been half an hour, so isn't it hard to say right now?"

Moon shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. Harry smiled and eyed the Weasley twins as they knocked a bludger back and forth around the rolling Slytherin chasers.

"If we keep pulling fouls though, Gryffindor might just win from penalty shots alone no matter who gets the snitch," he observed.

"How boring," Blaise muttered, barely audible over the cheers.

Harry merely laughed.

**-()_()_()-**

The other students on the way to the Great Hall were grumbling, for the most part. Camellia noticed that the Slytherins looked happy, despite some having dark bruises smattered on their faces. She supposed Gryffindor lost the game, and was mildly irritated with herself for feeling a twinge of disappointment. She turned a corner and saw Harry, flanked by Blaise Zabini and an unknown girl, heading in her direction. They stopped within a few feet of her.

"How was the library?" Harry asked her, amused.

They all stepped to the side to allow the other students to move unhindered.

She scoffed. "Quiet. How was the game?"

His expression turned even more gleeful than she thought possible.

"Bloody, full of fouls, and we won," he replied. "Flint's really violent. Gryffindor got so many penalty shots that I thought they'd win off of that, but Higgs caught the snitch."

The blonde on his left spoke up hesitantly. "It was a really long game since Higgs and Spelter are both pretty average seekers. The score was two hundred and sixty to one hundred."

Harry made a noise of agreement. "Where's Hermione?"

Camellia gestured behind her in the general direction of the library.

"Checking out some Sage books I pointed out," she told him.

His eyes crinkled in a silent display of amusement. Camellia smiled faintly at the expression until she remembered that they weren't alone. She quickly cleared her face, turning her attention turned to the pair that her brother was with. The girl was looking at her appraisingly, but not maliciously, and she could in no way determine was Zabini was thinking. She felt like she was being judged though, something that didn't sit well with her.

"Acacia Moon," The girl introduced, extending a hand.

Camellia took it only under the weight her brother's prompting gaze. It was a delicate hand that probably didn't know the definition of physical activity, but her grip wasn't terrible.

"Camellia Potter," She offered halfheartedly; like the girl didn't already know.

Moon smiled prettily at her and stepped back behind Harry. Zabini didn't follow her example, and the grey eyed girl gave him a disapproving look that he killed with a chilly one of his own. They obviously didn't get along, and would likely not be around each other at all if not for an apparent mutual interest in her brother. She wondered how he was going to juggle that.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Moon said.

She hated formalities, but Harry was still staring hard at her. It was an expectant expression that bypassed that deceptively happy face. _'At least be polite_,'his face seemed to say. Camellia resisted the urge to fidget, opting instead to humor him.

"And you as well," She said stiffly.

Harry beamed at her in approval, making her relax just a little. She hoped he wasn't trying to set up a play date between her and this fragile looking girl. It wasn't a thought that she could discount, knowing him, and she mentally hurried Hermione. The air felt awkward. Her brother's smile softened just as he clapped her shoulder.

"It's dinnertime," he remarked, stepping around her.

The bell rang. Zabini moved around to join him immediately, but Moon actually paused long enough to _curtsey _at her before scurrying after them. She stood there bewildered until jostled by a passing classmate. There was still no sign of Hermione. Camellia sighed and headed for the Great Hall, wondering if her friend had sat down and started reading again. She had half a mind to return to check on the easily distracted girl, but her stomach made its preference known. So, resigned to a post-game fervor of noise, she pushed her way through the crowd to get to the Gryffindor table.

And was it just her, or was the lion on the banner sulking?

**-()_()_()-**

_Harry,_

_It sounds like you're really having fun at Hogwarts. I'm glad—I was honestly a little worried that newer, stricter principles and decrees would prevent the sort of mischief that the Marauders loved to get into. I should have known that children always find a way to do something they're not supposed to. Don't worry about the portraits' and ghosts' apparent lack of attention; it happens every now and again. Perhaps the castle sometimes just needs a laugh and gives her halls a nudge. Hogwarts is purported to be sentient after all. Though that's not to say you should rely on that sort of happenstance for all of your endeavors. Sirius made that mistake once and now he has this peculiar hatred of animated paintings. Perhaps that is simply what a lack of caution will do to a person, which is why I've decided to get a hold of something for you. Discretion is a sneak's best friend. I know you'll put it to good use, if your previous letters are anything to go by. _

_Moony_

With a small smile, Harry unraveled the brown packaging paper to find a large black bottle. The metallic label gleamed sharply in the moonlight from the window he was perched in. _Skinrod's Solution_, it read. _The best invisible ink on the market. Safe for all quill and parchment types._ Harry turned it over and found a bright red notice on the back. _Allergy Alert: Contains demiguise fur_. He wondered how Remus managed to get a hold of it. The label was not lying; Skinrod's Solution was indeed among the best brands of invisible ink. It wasn't exactly cheap. A bottle as big as the one in his hand was probably around a galleon or so, judging by the newspaper ads he sometimes saw. Well, it didn't really matter anyway. He tucked the gift into his pocket, where it slid in like a snake's meal before vanishing completely into the enchanted space. He looked back to the note.

_I know you'll put it to good use, if your previous letters are anything to go by._

His face warmed as he folded the parchment and slipped it in with the ink. Something about the gentle way Remus scolded people was embarrassing, more so than when either of his parents raised their voice. Harry hopped down from the window and swung his cloak back over his body. The owls didn't even spare him a glance, having become used to him already. With a sigh, Harry realized that he was far from tired, despite the hour, and he had nothing to do in his room. Snape was patrolling the third floor even more vigorously, so visiting Fluffy was too risky for the time being. Harry briefly reflected sourly on his Head of House and then just stood there thinking about what to do, thoughts coming to dead ends and pauses more often than he would like. In the end, he decided on visiting the library. He hadn't yet tried his godfather's trick for getting into the Restricted Section and there was a book he wanted to look at. Harry fixed the hood over his face and slipped out into the corridor. It was silent at this time of night and very chilly. He bunched the fabric around his arms and snuck downstairs, taking only short stops to wait for the staircases to mosey over to his feet.

It was always surreal to see Hogwarts in the dead of night. Around dinnertime, the torches lining the walls were all lit, casting a warm glow over passing students. Now, past midnight, the flames were dim on the few that were burning at all. It made the halls look eerie and lonely. The last set of steps grinded to a halt before him and he bounded down, reaching the ground floor. A few turns brought him to the ornate library doors, standing gloomily in the darkness. Harry traced the Hogwarts crest with a smile before easing the doors open. The hinges didn't make a sound, a fact that didn't surprise him. Pince took obsessive care of her territory. So much so that he worried suddenly that she might actually sleep on a cot behind her desk to guard her home from nighttime wanderers. He closed the doors quietly behind him and cast a _lumos_, creeping to her desk just to be sure. The light didn't penetrate the cloak, so he had to part it to see anything beyond the gauzy fabric.

He felt silly, but sighed in relief anyway, to see the space empty. The Restricted Section was right nearby where it would be easy for the stern librarian to keep an eye on it. The metal gate was heavy and wrapped in chains that would retract once the correct sequence of keys was used. Harry ignored this entrance and circled the floor-to-ceiling fence that surrounded the shelves of valuable tomes. Sirius had told him during one of his schoolboy accounts that the Restricted Section actually had a second opening. It was a most likely a just-in-case sort of thing added by a librarian, maybe by one that kept getting himself locked in the cage-like space somehow. Regardless of how it got there, it was easy for a student to bypass… if they could find it. Sirius had the thought that it would be more fun for Harry to figure it out himself, but the firewhiskey that his dad brought shortly after spoiled the adventure.

There was a badger with a slightly crooked tail. Harry, with a bit of fiddling, unlatched it and pulled the disguised gate open. He stepped in cautiously, but no barrier stopped him and nothing came flying out to attack him. He closed the gate and opened it again with no trouble. His wariness then transformed into excitement as he found all of the school's rarest and most expensive (sometimes dangerous) tomes available to him. Harry couldn't delude himself into thinking that he would be able to understand most of them, but that little setback didn't dim his enthusiasm. If there was anything he _could_ read, it was a book about beasts, and there was a certain series that he only had three books from. His smile threatened to split his face and he got right to work scanning every shelf top to bottom until he found what he was looking for.

"There you are," he breathed.

The book was thick with a brown leather cover and a raised title. _Encyclopedia of Magical Beasts: XXXX Edition_. He worked it out of the tight hold the flanking books had on it and flipped it open. With a grin, Harry took a seat in the corner and skimmed the table of contents. _Aethonan_, _demiguise_, _griffin, hellhound, kappa_… A compilation of the studies of the best magizoologists that ever breathed. Harry pulled the cloak around him like a miniature tent to keep the light contained. He wanted to read the whole thing, but settled for turning to the section on hellhounds. A moving drawing of a dog much larger than fluffy snarled silently up at him. Harry tapped its heads, riling it up further. In retaliation it tried to cover the words of the passage with its paws. It was restricted to its box, however, so Harry read without any problems. He knew a lot of it, but it didn't hurt to be sure, so he soaked up the text in the library's quiet with the ticking of a clock somewhere in the background.

It was a silence interrupted by keys jingling.

Harry paused and strained his ears to listen. It was probably the sleepless Filch doing his usual rounds of the halls. But the footsteps were different and rather than being accompanied by soft mewls, there was an angry hissing that he knew didn't come from Mrs. Norris. A bewildered frown crossed his face when he realized that there were words in the reptilian whisper.

"_Here,_" it said. "_In the Ressstricted Sssection._"

Harry felt like his body had been tossed through a ghost. He froze, wondering if he had been caught. Maybe Snape had a talking snake for a pet that he used in a manner similar to how Filch used Norris, to root out sneaking children. He felt his body tighten into a ball, trying to become smaller. The cloak stopped people from seeing him, but they could feel him out easily enough. His mother had told him though, that any revealing charms wouldn't give him away unless Dumbledore himself cast them.

"Y-yes sir."

The familiar stammer belonged to Professor Quirrel. Oddly, it sounded like the stutter was genuine this time. Harry closed his book as quietly as possible, but couldn't do anything about the light coming from his wand. Silent casting, even for something as basic as _nox, _needed more concentration than he could spare. There was no guarantee he could manage it either. The footfalls came closer. They were irregular because of the arrangements of carpets over the stone floor, so some were softer than others. Harry soon saw Quirrel's silhouette—recognizable by the towering turban—appear at the main gate of the Restricted Section. He had a set of keys. Only Madam Pince, Dumbledore, and McGonagall were supposed to have a set of keys to the Restricted Section, according to Remus. Harry listened to the clicks of each key being twisted into the lock with growing apprehension and hoped that the sound of his pounding heart didn't serve as a giveaway. The chains rattled loudly and retreated, allowing Quirrel to step through the gate.

"_In the back corner._"

Harry ran a list of expletives in his head and looked wildly between Quirrel and the gate, wondering if he could get out without being caught. The tenseness of his body was starting to give him a headache. Quirrel was a mere meter away from him, looking over the very same shelf that he had pulled the encyclopedia from.

"M-master, it's not h-here," Quirrel whimpered.

He was staring at the empty slot where the book in Harry's lap had once been. The pain in Harry's head increased suddenly, like an onslaught of needles and nails. Involuntarily, he gasped, and his vision went blurry for a second. Quirrel was hunched over, clutching his temples. Was it an area effect spell?

"_Where isss it?_" the hiss demanded.

There was another wave of pain. Harry clenched his teeth, but the action only made it worse.

"I-I don't know!" Quirrel wheezed. "I'll check the registry, maybe someone checked it out."

_Shhh… shh_

Both Quirrel and the voice fell silent and Harry dimly noticed that the heavy book had started sliding off of his lap.

"Who's there?" Quirrel asked.

His voice was darker and far more dangerous than Harry had ever heard it. He saw the long, thin shadow of a wand fall into the man's hand, which he then raised in Harry's general direction.

"Well?" he barked.

Harry took off running, shoulder jarring the gate as he shot through it.

"_Ssstop them!_"

He heard the hiss behind him and the quick taps of footsteps told him that Quirrel obeyed. The hallways and torches all blurred as Harry raced by them, obviously much faster than his pursuer, but he needed to find a place to hide or he was going to be caught eventually. The stairs came into view, grinding slowly away from him and Harry turned sharply in an attempt to make it before it moved. He threw himself onto the stone steps and scrambled up, barely remembering to crawl over the illusion trick. Quirrel came into view, scowling face highlighted by the flickering torches. It didn't last long. He doubled over in pain shortly after stopping, but Harry barely felt it this time, whatever spell it was. He left his professor crumpled several stories below and walked quickly down the hall of the floor he'd ended up on. He picked a vaguely familiar door to get behind. The encyclopedia was still in his arms. Harry leaned against a wall to catch his breath, sighing and then laughing in relief.

Then he noticed the mirror positioned in the center of the room and the presence of another person. The Headmaster was there, looking straight at him, almost like he was able to see past the invisibility cloak.

"Good evening, Mister Potter," he greeted warmly. "Of perhaps I should say 'good morning' instead?"

It really wasn't his lucky night. Harry warily lowered the hood of his cloak and stared up at the man his mother didn't like for reasons she never detailed. She only said that it was his fault that they had to hide… but Harry loved his home at Nature's Navel, and couldn't feel any ill toward Dumbledore for that no matter how he thought about it. He stared at the twinkling eyed man with no small amount of curiosity.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry replied.

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back and looked at him thoughtfully.

"What are you doing out and about at this time of night?" he asked, smiling faintly.

Harry, feeling sheepish, ran a hand through his hair. The cloak rode up with his movement. Dumbledore saw the book immediately.

"A little midnight reading?" the man prompted.

"I can't sleep a lot," Harry explained. "I can't help that. I need to do something."

Dumbledore chuckled and gestured at the mirror. "I suppose you already know what this is then?"

"The mirror?" Harry moved closer. "I've seen it already. It's interesting, but honestly I forgot it was in here."

"Oh? Then if the Mirror of Erised is not why you came here… I cannot fathom a reason."

There was a knowing smile on Dumbledore's face that made Harry think that he could probably think of a hundred reasons why Harry would rush into a room and shut the door behind him. He didn't bother lying. There was no point, and he didn't seem to be in any trouble for breaking curfew—yet.

"I almost got caught," he admitted. "Quirrel was chasing me."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered to where the book was held to his stomach, under the cloak. There was an odd look in his eye, like he'd suddenly remembered something important. Harry was ashamed to notice that he was pouting in response to the look. He showed the book to his Headmaster with a sigh. Dumbledore didn't look surprised too see the title, so Harry wondered if he knew Quirrel and that strange hissing master of his were after it.

"Interesting choice for a first year," Dumbledore pointedly remarked.

"I like animals," he muttered. "And I've already read the first three editions. We don't have this one at home."

Dumbledore held his hand out. "As accommodating as your parents are, I'm sure you need only ask."

Harry very reluctantly handed the book to him. "I suppose I'll have to try that, next time I owl."

"Which will be at a more appropriate time, I hope."

Harry smiled impishly in response. "It will be, sir."

Tomorrow night, perhaps. There were some things he needed to think about.

"Very well, then," Dumbledore said.

He turned and conjured a sheet to cover the mirror behind him. Harry briefly saw the Great Hall once again before it was concealed.

"It's a dangerous thing that I have yet to relocate," Dumbledore told him. "It'll have to wait a little longer yet, it seems."

"Professor?" Harry questioned.

"I'll walk to back to your dormitory, Mister Potter, to ensure none of the patrols cause you any grief. I must caution you about your late night wanderings, however, I doubt I can convince you to abandon them. Insomnia is quite the demon, isn't it?" Dumbledore shuffled him out the door. "I've battled it every now and again myself."

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore hummed. "If you replace your hood, I fail to see why you would be. After all, I'm just a sleepless old man taking a midnight stroll."

Dumbledore stared innocently skyward and Harry hurried to cover himself with the cloak again. The walk down to the dungeons was not entirely silent, as the Headmaster made idle comments about the stories behind several portraits.

"The Lonesome Glutton was only newly painted when I first took the job as Headmaster. It was a gift from a Hufflepuff sixth year with the most fascinating taste in art."

The portrait was occupied this time and Harry saw that its subject was morbidly overweight and sulking fiercely. His mustache, like Fred said, could only be described as crazy. It was thick and fell to his shoulders in salt and pepper spirals. It was fascinating… and not necessarily in a good way. Hogwarts had some odd people walk her halls. Like now, he thought, as he and Dumbledore descended to the ground floor and turned into the residential section of the dungeons. They stopped in front of a seemingly random stretch of wall that served as the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

"Very fitting location," Dumbledore commented. "Though the passwords are usually very predictable. Forever Noble."

The stone rippled subtly and Harry stepped toward it.

"Good morning," he whispered, and slipped through.

The room was chilly and dark, but Harry ignored all of this to head straight to his room. He couldn't send anything just yet, so soon after a near miss with Quirrel and getting caught by Dumbledore, but he wanted to at least begin writing his letter before bed. He was suddenly tired and there were only four hours until breakfast.


	9. Game Plans

**Advisory Whatever:** This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. _It has: _Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.

**A/N:** Revamping the plans again due to new ideas spawned by the previous chapter's act of running away from me giggling… but as my teacher once told me… the biggest part of writing is rewriting. Was looking up details on Quirrel that I might've missed out of the books. The implication seems to be that he held the DADA position for more than just Harry's first year… hmmm. Anyway, this chapter was also a bit of a battle. I'm still not entirely happy with it, on an organizational level. It hops around and I feel like it might be rushed? But if I try to rewrite _again_ I may never post it. I've deleted a lot of things before because I edited them into nonexistence so I don't want to _over_do it. Though I did suddenly remember that there were rules about when to capitalize 'he' or 'she' or what have you after dialogue. Foolish me, I'll be fixing that too. Bit by bit.

Anyway, I hope I have adequately shown the personality morphings of several characters in this chapter. This is my first big project so it's all an experiment as far as characterization goes...

**CHAPTER 09 - Game Plans**

Saturday morning found James outside at the stone table, not far from where he and Lily had worked on the animated dummies. In his hand was a letter from Harry, a good few hours later than usual, and containing some things that didn't sit well with him. The front of the letter was normal enough. It was a rambling summary of the last few days. What he was learning, what sort of antics the Weasley twins were up to, how Acacia Moon seemed to be terrified of Blaise Zabini. The variety of ink colors suggested that Harry had been writing it over the course of the week rather than all at once. The back of the parchment had another letter, this one in invisible ink with the words haphazardly written. It was addressed specifically to him. He leaned back in his chair, ignoring the chilly wind that fussed with his hair, and reread it.

_Dad,_

_Something odd happened last night. I couldn't sleep again, which has been happening a lot more lately, so I went to the library and visited the Restricted Section. I got in how Sirius said to and sat reading the 4__th__ encyclopedia of magical beasts. Then Quirrel, the Defense professor, came in. He was talking to someone that sounded like a snake and they were looking for the book I was reading under the cloak. Quirrel called him 'master' and there was some sort of area affect spell he cast that gave both me and Quirrel a nasty headache. They almost caught me because the book started slipping when I moved, but I ran out. I met Dumbledore in front of the Mirror of Erised. He took the book back for me and walked me back to the Slytherin common room. He wasn't nearly as bad as mum is always saying, though he is a little strange. I don't want her to know I talked to him. You know she'll get angry. That's why this is for you._

_I did some thinking before going to bed. The 4__th__ book has a section on hellhounds in it. It tells how to fight them or tame them. So I'm a little worried about Fluffy. He's just a puppy right now, you know. I'd like to know a bit about Quirrel, so I thought you might know or be able to find something since you're an auror. He was different last night. Maybe there'll be something on the snake master he was talking to. It's all rather confusing, now that I have time to think about it. My head's a little muddled right now though, since I'm so tired. And I want to read that book. We only have the first three books. I've read them all so many times now and was enjoying the 4__th__ one until Quirrel had to show up and Dumbledore found out I had taken it and I had to give it back. He wasn't angry though. I didn't get in any trouble at all. He even told me about some of the portraits while we were walking to the dungeons, like the glutton with the weird mustache. I didn't tell him about the hissing. I did tell him I was running from Quirrel, but didn't say anything else. I'm not even sure why._

_It's a good thing it's Saturday though. I can sleep in. I'll definitely find something to do with Mell today when I wake up. I really haven't spoken much to her since the game last week. She's always hiding away with Hermione in the library now. They need to get outside more. I'm going to bed and will send this after breakfast._

_Harry_

James created a duplicate of the cover letter and tucked the original into his robes as he stood. He pushed down the discomfort he felt at deceiving his wife. The copy was dropped unceremoniously onto the kitchen table where Lily would find it when she was done brewing. Camellia had written complaining about a string of painful headaches last night and Lily went right to work making potions for her. His prickly daughter wouldn't go to the infirmary without being pushed. She was always so suspicious of everything and everyone. He sighed and ripped a blank scrap off of yesterday's newspaper to write a note on.

_Lily, I'm going to run some errands._

He left it with Harry's letter. Then he vanished with a muffled _crack_.

**-()_()_()-**

Camellia found herself dragged along behind her brother with Hermione. She was putting up a token protest, but her friend's interest was piqued so she was the only one. With a grumble, she relented and allowed herself to be led across the lawn.

"Where are we going?" she asked for the third time.

Harry spared her a grin over his shoulder. "To have tea and cake."

She scowled but decided to stop asking. He was in an obnoxiously good mood for someone with such heavy smudges under his eyes. They were partially concealed by his glasses, but she had no such shield. After being woken up in the dead of the night with the worst headache she had ever experienced, she had not managed to fall back asleep. It showed, judging by the concerned looks her classmates gave her over breakfast.

"Oh, isn't this that man Hagrid's hut?" Hermione asked. "The one who showed us across the lake?"

They were stopped in front of a rundown looking shack. It had a rickety wooden fence and a space cleared for a garden. Browning old pumpkin vines were strewn messily over the dirt. Harry nodded at Hermione and skipped to the door without hesitation.

"I come here all the time," he explained. "The tea is really good. He gets the herbs from Professor Sprout."

Sprout may be the Herbology professor but, taking into account her love of sentient magical plants, Camellia had to wonder if this was a good or bad thing.

"Only, I recommend eating anything he gives you only after dripping it in the tea," Harry told them. "Soaking it, rather."

Hermione looked puzzled. "Why?"

Harry's face took on a grim smile that Camellia didn't like at all. The huge door opened, but with Hagrid stranding in the arch there was nothing of the inside to be seen.

"Well, isn' this a surprise?" the man greeted warmly.

The three of them were ushered in and found themselves around a wooden table. It was low to the ground and probably weighed a ton. Introductions felt a little awkward—to her anyway. Hermione looked as curious as ever, eying up the homely interior of the shack. It was not magically enlarged and only just big enough for someone of Hagrid's girth to move about in.

"Where's Fang?" Harry wondered after looking around.

"Pomona wanted to chase some pests outta her greenhouses. She won't get nuthin' outta that coward dog, but I let her take him anyway."

"What sort of dog is he?" Hermione asked.

"A spineless one," Hagrid stated bluntly. "But a boarhound if tha's what yer askin' for. He's a good boy."

Camellia was reminded of Deidre, though she wasn't clear on why. Her cat was anything but spineless. Not for the first time, she wished she had taken her pet along.

"Now," Hagrid huffed cheerfully, "how've you girls been doin' at school?"

The hut was filled with Hermione's enthused babbling and the scent of mint tea. Camellia nearly cracked her teeth on a rock cake before taking Harry's warning to heart and dipping it before every bite. Nothing important was really discussed, and she felt herself warm a little to the casual atmosphere.

"Yer lookin' a little tired there," Hagrid remarked to her after a lull.

Camellia started at being addressed suddenly. Her fingers brushed under her eyes, which were a little heavy still.

"Just some headaches last night," she explained.

She didn't miss the sharp look that Harry shot at her. What was that for?

Hagrid nodded in understanding. "Tha' classwork'll get yeh. Good for yeh to be doin' well, but yeh need to take a break sometimes."

She smiled wanly. "Isn't… that what this is?"

The mint in the tea was strong and refreshing, making her feel more awake than she was. Through in the clarity given to her by the tea, she couldn't help but think that Harry was taking too many breaks. Just how often did he visit this little hut on the edge of the school grounds? She took another sip. It wasn't that bad.

**-()_()_()-**

"Five, six, seven, eight…"

"Who do we appreciate?"

"Our good friend the firstie, for one."

"Yes, yes. You can't discount ourselves either though. For _befriending_ our good friend in the first place."

They grinned at each other, identical faces sporting identical expressions. If they put some glass between them and moved in tandem, any observer would mistake one for a reflection in a mirror. They had done that before, as a matter of fact. Their dear mother was still a little miffed at that, two years later, though they really hadn't damaged the clock.

"Nine, ten—there are fifteen sickles," George announced.

"And eight knuts and a galleon," Fred continued.

"Brilliant!" George nodded.

"Superb," Fred agreed.

"What're you two doing?"

They looked up to the source of the shadow that had fallen over them to see their younger brother. His eyes fell to their glittering pile of coins and widened considerably.

"Where did you—" he was cut off when they pulled him down.

Once Ron was crouched in the corner with them, they looked around for any sign of Percy before acknowledging him further.

"Shush!" Fred whispered. "We worked hard for this, so don't call attention over here."

Ron wriggled out of his grasp but, thankfully, stayed put.

"Where did you get it?" he asked insistently, though more quietly.

George waggled his eyebrows. "By offering our excellent services of course."

Ron looked doubtful. "What could _you_ have to offer that someone would pay you for?"

"Our splendid company is more than enough," Fred informed him faux-haughtily.

"To tell you plainly, little brother, it's pocket change from a friend."

"_Funding_ from a friend," Fred corrected.

"Of course. Funding," George agreed hastily.

"For what?" Ron pressed.

"To start us on the path to making more, naturally," Fred told him with a pat on the head.

And the best part, to them, was that Harry hadn't cared a whit. He heard them grumbling about their lack of money and simply handed them what was in his pocket. Leftovers from the train, he claimed, and they didn't care to question why he was habitually carrying the change in his robes three months later. Not when he was so wonderfully generous on a whim. The portrait opened to admit Percy, prompting the pair to hurriedly bag the coins and tuck them away out of sight. Just the look of them all huddled suspiciously in the corner was enough to make their brother approach them, eyes narrowed warily.

"Just what are you three doing?" he demanded.

The twins smiled lazily and each slung an arm over Ron's shoulders.

"Just teaching some of the facts of life to Ronald here," George drawled.

"Isn't that our duty as big brothers?" Fred asked.

Percy's frown deepened. "I shudder to think of what you would impart to him."

"Now what do you mean by that?" George complained.

Percy scoffed. "I _mean_, that Ron should go to someone more mature for an explanation of the facts of life. Do you hear me, Ronald? Anything these two tell you will lead you to little else but trouble."

Ron mumbled something vaguely affirmative and Percy went off, climbing the stairs to his dormitory. The twins waited until he was totally gone before speaking again.

"None of that nonsense," George dismissed. "He'll lead you to little else but a life of boredom and brown-nosing."

"But _where_ did the money come from?" Ron asked again, undeterred.

"Are you still caught on that?" Fred sighed. "From a friend."

"From who?" he persisted.

The twins traded glances and then stared intently at their increasingly agitated brother. Then they leaned in close and got right into his face.

"If you can keep a secret, Ronald, we can share a few things," George told him solemnly.

"Impart a little wisdom, if you will, Fred interjected.

"Maybe get you something nice, even, George added.

A look of reluctant interest was ground into their brother's face. They stood as one, brushed themselves off, and moved to walk away.

"Do think about it, dear brother."

A convenient guinea pig could be nice.

"And if you can leave off of saying anything to Percy, that'd be great."

They left him there to stew.

**-()_()_()-**

The atmosphere in the Leaky Cauldron was as inviting as ever, but James was unable to enjoy it fully. His lack of interest in the smell of fresh food or the chatter of such a motley group of people only occurred when he was particularly peeved by something. That something was the folder in front of him. _Quirinus Quirrel_, it read at the top. James tapped his fingers on the table he was seated at, barely noticing how smooth and polished it was. The place looked grimy from a distance, but every surface was actually spotless.

"What am I missing?" he muttered, rubbing his temples.

There was nothing really off about Quirrel's information. He was a soft-spoken man who liked his privacy. That was perfectly fine. Remus was like that. Quirrel was a teacher for several years. He taught Muggle Studies. It was a little odd that he switched to Defense, sure, but people could have spontaneous career jumps if they so pleased. Sirius went from being an auror to a model for _Witch Weekly_ to a part-time journalist for _The Quibbler_ in the span of three years, after all. No, there was nothing exceptionally odd about Professor Quirinus Quirrel.

"Butterbeer?"

A wiry young woman stood over him with a mug of the popular golden beverage. James smiled and nodded. She set the heavy glass down with ease.

"Tom sent it, she explained.

The bald little man waved cheerfully at him from the counter. James inclined his head in thanks.

"You're looking a little frustrated, she commented.

"Just a little." Heshrugged.

Her eyes fell to the folder in front of him and a strange smile crossed her face.

"I remember Professor Quirrel!" she exclaimed. "He was really good before."

James looked at her more closely. She looked older under the dim lighting of the pub, but he could still easily tag her as a teenager. A recent graduate? Her tone of voice was odd and he picked up on her words.

"He was 'good before?' Did something happen?" he asked.

She shrugged. "He got really jumpy in his second year of teaching Defense. Something about a vampire or a hag. I don't know, he stammered out some stories to Tom all the time. Ah, sorry. I just came over and got all in your business."

The girl only barely looked sheepish, but James waved it off anyway.

"It's good to be social, he told her offhandedly.

"Yeah, well—"

"Belnap!"

She started and, without another word, darted back to the counter to pick up someone else's order. James flipped the file open and scanned it again, keeping the girl's words in mind. Some feeling prodded at his gut, insisting that an important detail had been shared in that brief exchange with the nosy waitress. His eyes froze on the employment history.

"Three," he said to himself. "This is his third year teaching Defense."

What that had to do with anything, he didn't know, but it was certainly strange. Sure, he took a year off after his first time in the position, but this would be the second in a row since he returned. It could just be proof that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was not truly cursed, but he didn't brush off the information. James flicked several pages aside and came to the portkey pass. It was official approval to travel to Albania. So he ran afoul of some magical being and returned jumpy. James took a swig from the butterbeer, careful not to spill any on the papers. Did she say Quirrel talked to Tom? He looked thoughtfully at the barkeeper. It wasn't too busy today. James tucked the folder away in his robes and moved to the counter, taking his drink with him.

"Is it no good?" Tom asked.

"It's plenty good, as usual, James replied. "I needed to ask you something."

"Anything, anything."

"What happened to Quirrel?" James asked bluntly.

Tom rubbed his chin thoughtfully and licked his toothless gums. "Quirinus?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Went to Albania and came back scared of his own shadow," Tom told him.

"Why?" James pressed.

"Vampires or a hag," he said uncertainly. "I don't remember which. Came back a different man, almost."

James was feeling a little frustrated, but didn't let it show. Instead, he savored the butterbeer and went over everything in his head. He was under no obligation to do this. Quirrel had no legal troubles so it wasn't really his business as an auror… but Harry had asked. Just how often was it that Harry directly asked for something? He did all his could to ensure his children never wanted for anything that could be provided. In any case, if his son was worried about one of his professors, it _was_ his business as a parent. Maybe he should have told Lily after all.

No, her grudges against Dumbledore made her unreasonable. Better to be the one to step up for school related problems. Lily could take care of things outside of the world of education and Albus Dumbledore, though he personally felt it ought to be the other way around, since he was the one working for the Ministry. James stood with a sigh and left money for the drink. It was a gift, but he didn't feel right just taking it. He exited the pub wondering where to go from there. Flourish and Blotts was just a few buildings down. He ran a hand through his hair and decided to pay it a visit. Then what? He didn't know.

**-()_()_()-**

Nimble fingers deftly folded a long cut of parchment until it was compact enough to be slid into a standard envelope. A blot of scarlet wax sealed it tight. Her parents' names were neatly printed on the front with plain black ink. If she had her own owl, then she wouldn't have to write out their full names. Camellia never had to write out her parents' names when she wrote to them. Camellia's handwriting was miles ahead of her own, for that matter. Though, in Hermione's honest opinion, she had become quite competent with her quill. She had never learned calligraphy in her primary years, but upon learning the preferences of the Wizarding World, she bought lesson books and practiced persistently until she deemed her writing acceptable.

"Now," she murmured.

Hundreds of owls turned to her expectantly. The ones belonging to the school all had little _H_ charms around their left feet. They could not be removed by anyone but the Headmaster, which was how students could tell whether the charms were fake if they suspected anything was amiss. There had been cases of sabotage in the past and students involved had been severely punished. Professor McGonagall had warned them of such things the morning after their arrival. Hermione shook her head sadly at the thought of petty school grudges gone awry as she approached a friendly looking owl. It was small and looked agile, so she fastened her letter to its leg.

"Please deliver this to my parents for me." She patted it on the head.

It shot out the window, leaving behind a few feathers that drifted lazily to the ground. They vanished upon touching the stone floor. Hermione sighed happily at having finished her letter and took a moment to straighten her tie before leaving the owlry. It was late in the day and dinner was soon to begin. Her stomach was twisting eagerly for the mouth-watering meals that Hogwarts provided every day. The mint tea with rock cakes lunch at Hagrid's may have tided her over for a fair amount of time, but there wasn't much she could say about the taste of the brick-like pastries. She supposed they were meant to be chocolate, but the cocoa was a burnt aftertaste and she didn't have a clue what else could be in them.

She hadn't the heart to remark on it though. Not when Hagrid was so pleasant to them all. It was no wonder Harry enjoyed his company. A bright smile took over her face. It was an expression that came to her far more often now. The first month at Hogwarts she had worried so much that her social life would be the same—friendless and full of taunting—but Camellia was so wonderful under her thorny exterior and Harry was always cheerful. Even though both of them had lost sleep lately. Her grin dimmed at the memory of those heavy bags both of her friends were carrying under their eyes. If only there was something she could do for them…

"Oh!"

Her shoulder strap jerked harshly and fell down her arm. The bag attached hit the ground, but only her ink bottle escaped, capped so tightly that it didn't even spill when it clattered to the floor. She managed to catch her balance before she fell and snatched up the bottle to return to its place.

"H-Hermione? I'm so sorry!"

The stammer was familiar. "Neville?"

She turned around to find her fellow Gryffindor as pale as a sheet and sweating profusely. Hermione furrowed her brow. Neville had been racing by her so quickly that she hadn't seen him while she was lost in her thoughts. His chest was heaving and he looked entirely disheveled.

"What happened?" she demanded.

Neville's mouth moved but no sound came out for a while. Hermione waited as patiently as she could, pushing down the pangs of hunger in her belly.

"D-dog!" Neville eventually forced out. "_Big_ and with _three heads_!"

Hermione felt a chill go through her body, reminded very strongly of the incident with the troll on Halloween. If Camellia hadn't been there... she shuddered. But there wasn't time for that. Not if there was a three-headed dog loose in the school.

"Where?" she asked urgently.

Neville shook his head, trembling.

"Neville, this is important! Is it loose?" she pressed.

He shook his head again. "It's chained up on the third floor. I didn't mean to go up there! I was lost, honest!"

Keenly she remembered the Headmaster's warning after the opening feast. They were not to go there lest they suffer a painful death.

"Shouldn't the door have been locked, then?" she wondered absently.

"It wasn't," Neville said glumly.

Hermione's skin was tingling and her heart was thrumming, but she was slightly perturbed to note that it wasn't entirely fear. Rather, it was very similar to the feeling she got when she first entered the Hogwarts library. She scolded herself, to no avail. She was painfully curious now. A three-headed dog, just like Cerberus who guarded the underworld. Was it a guardian of the school or something else? If it was chained up, then it should be fine, right? Neville escaped uninjured. Perhaps if she stayed just in the doorway she could take a look. Camellia would probably make fun of her sense of wonder, but then Camellia had grown up around magical beasts and accepted them as the norm. Camellia was able to look a mountain troll in the face without panicking at all while she had just stood there terrified.

"Which door is it?" she asked, trying hard to sound casual.

"You're not going up there are you?" Neville asked.

Hermione smiled; it was meant to be a reassuring expression, but Neville was only worried further.

"Of course not."

It felt like the heaviest lie she had ever told in her life.

**-()_()_()-**

Hermione was late to dinner. This happened often, but usually Camellia was with her when it did. She noticed her friend was flushed and bright eyed, almost bouncing in her seat.

"Where have you been?" Camellia asked.

"I have something to show you!" Hermione enthused. "Come with me later, please?"

Her frizzy brown hair was wilder than usual, as though she had been running. Hermione's plate was piled uncharacteristically high as well. Even their housemates had taken notice of the unusual fervor Hermione was in.

"Did she find a good book?" someone wondered.

"I guess she wants to test out what she learned."

There were a few sniggers. Camellia rolled her eyes and tuned them out, returning to her own meal.

"Will it take long?" she asked.

"Maybe," Hermione told her. "It depends."

She could pry no more details out of the gleeful girl who was now reminding her strongly of her brother. Camellia could only hope that whatever happened wouldn't be as outlandish as anything Harry would drag her into. All the puffskein swarms and snake-filled caves back home were more than enough for her. She shook her head. Knowing Hermione, it probably was a book. There would be nothing to worry about there. Still, there was a strange feeling in her gut that she couldn't shake and she hoped it had nothing to do with her friend.


	10. A Sense of Adventure

**Advisory Whatever:** This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. _It has: _Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.

**A/N: **Right, so… my haphazard schedule was further thrown by two weeks of ear infection, followed by an on-off dose of hay-fever, paperwork, and a bit of brooding. This chapter… frustrating. I hope it turned out fine for all the trouble it gave me. A bit short but I stuffed a bit in here... I guess it's not entirely laid back a story, but as long as it's happy doing as it pleases I suppose it's fine. Next chapter should finally be moving into December if what I type decides to obey my notes this time rather than force me to rewrite my notes to suit the story. And I still haven't edited some mistakes I found in earlier chapters with grammar and this no-sense-making thing where the twins have 2 galleons before Harry's donation that I need to change to sickles...

I'll be busier soon but I'll work on this even if I manage only 50 words a week!

**CHAPTER 10 - A Sense of Adventure**

Blaise always thought that Harry's room was interesting. It looked messy, but everything was actually in order. The bed was certainly always made, though that may be from disuse. There was a hammock hanging up in one corner, reminding him slightly of a spider's web if spider's webs were green and brown. Books were everywhere, sorted into piles in spots assigned for specific classes. Work stations, of a sort. Harry would finish with one essay and leave it to dry, rolling around on the floor to reach the next assignment. Blaise always thought it was easier to do the homework as it was given. It made no sense to him to put it off and have to do it all at once. He remarked on this several times, always receiving the same guilty smile telling him that it was flaw rather than a preference. So this time he didn't bother saying anything about it. He sat at the neglected chair and reread the book Harry had lent him.

"I'm finished," Harry sighed, "though McGonagall will dock points for it being a centimeter short."

"Why not add more?" Blaise wondered.

"It felt finished. I don't like adding useless stuff." Harry shrugged and stood to stretch.

Blaise closed the book and put it down on the desk behind him. He looked thoughtfully at his ever cheerful housemate. The only one he could stand outside of class. It wasn't really true that Harry disliked useless things—he wouldn't chatter so much if he did. It was more likely that he was just in a hurry.

"Because it takes time away?" he asked.

Harry grinned at him. "You've caught me."

He shrugged and didn't respond, though he did watch curiously as Harry fished around in his pockets. His arm went in elbow deep before he apparently found what he was looking for. He paused and looked over to Blaise with a curious expression.

"Want to come along?" he offered.

Blaise considered it. "It has been boring lately."

Harry snorted. "There've been accidents left and right."

"Longbottom is considered normal now," he muttered.

The clumsy Gryffindor was the subject of a lot of mockery to begin with, but everyone was used to him. Trips, stumbles, and potions explosions now only had students sighing and getting out of the way. People could get used to things so easily if they were exposed to them often enough. Things like towering castles, inky black lakes full of dangerous creatures, and potentially fatal explosions. Hogwarts had its fair share of mysteries and Blaise was sure that he hadn't seen half of them. He just needed to go out of his way to find them now that the public ones were no longer remarkable.

"Where to?" Blaise asked.

Harry grinned and pulled a cloak from his pocket. It was long, silver, and spilled over his hands to pool on the floor like liquid. An invisibility cloak of very high quality. It was no surprise that the hyper-secretive Potters would own one. Blaise pulled his stare back to the face of his housemate.

"Anywhere we want," Harry told him smugly.

A pleased feeling stirred in his chest and he found himself smiling back very faintly, very quickly.

**-()_()_()-**

"It's right here!" Hermione quietly exclaimed. "Just wait until you see it."

Camellia followed warily but quickly, ignoring the chill of apprehension in her stomach. Hermione was pulling her through the third floor, heading straight for the corridor that their Headmaster had forbidden the exploration of. If what Hermione was so enthused about was the very thing that would _cause_ the painful deaths of whoever carelessly approached, she was going to have words with the girl. The incident with the troll must have had the opposite effect than it should have. Rather than making Hermione a little more cautious, the fight apparently made her bolder.

Hermione grabbed the handle of a door and yanked it open more forcefully than needed. Hesitantly, Camellia stepped forward. Then she stopped just shy of the threshold and didn't dare move an inch more.

"Oh you've got to be joking," she breathed, head shaking.

"Isn't it amazing?" Hermione asked. "I've read all sorts of myths and fantasy tales before, but I didn't really _think_ about it. I'm here in a magical world now and those creatures are _real_ and I didn't even realize it, not even after the troll. Not until Neville ran into me looking white as a sheet and told me about this! Camellia I can't believe I was just treating this place like any other school. There's so much to learn that I could never see in the muggle world. It's like a fairy tale!"

Camellia could barely focus on Hermione's happy babbling. Her eyes were on the enormous hellhound that was seated in the corner of the unused classroom, tail thumping on the floor. All three heads were panting, tongues lolling between massive teeth and dripping thick globs of saliva.

"You've been casting spells for several months now and it didn't sink in?" she asked disbelievingly.

Her friend shrugged sheepishly and turned back to the hellhound that was still staring at them. She brushed off Camellia's incredulity and returned to her original topic.

"I want to go in," Hermione admitted, "but even though he looks friendly enough, I'm not sure if it's a good idea."

"No," Camellia said slowly, "it probably isn't."

She had an appreciation for beasts, having grown up in the middle of a wild forest. It wasn't nearly as strong as Harry's, and she tended to keep her distance even as her brother approached and sometimes played with all sorts of creatures. She always just watched and was content with that. Her mind was not changed. There was no doubt in her thoughts that this was the very thing the Headmaster was warning them against approaching. The question of _why_ Dumbledore was kenneling such a beast had no answer that she could think of. For all she knew, he could be involved in a beast smuggling ring and using the castle as his base of operations.

"What are you two doing here?"

Camellia whirled around, heart racing, and she noticed Hermione do the same. Due to their spell of panic it took a moment for them to register who it was that had spoken. Camellia huffed quietly when she realized and forced herself to calm down.

"Harry?" Hermione tentatively confirmed.

He adjusted his glasses—something Camellia knew was pointless due to the enchantments on it to prevent slipping—and offered them both a smile. Zabini was behind him eyeing the hellhound with vague surprise.

"I see you've found Fluffy," Harry said conversationally. "He's not supposed to have visitors, but I think it's a shame. He's lonely."

"Of course," Camellia said dryly, "and I suppose you've been coming here often?"

In response, he strolled into the former classroom like he owned it. Hermione started hyperventilating when the dog, Fluffy, became excited and didn't relax even when it became clear that Harry was in no danger. He scratched each head equally and cooed to the beast as though it were a puffskein. But Huffy didn't have fangs the size of broadswords or legs as thick as logs.

"Why is he here?" Camellia asked.

Harry didn't turn around. "Why are hellhounds usually around?"

Hermione noticed first of the three outside of the room that there was a conspicuous square of wood in the corner. A trap door.

"Discreet," Zabini murmured.

"Don't bother with it." Harry waved. "It's locked very well and it made Fluffy uncomfortable when I got close to it."

Camellia shot a look at the towering hound and decided that was more than enough reason for her. She remained standing awkwardly outside of Fluffy's room alongside of Hermione and Zabini, neither of whom felt any need to break the quiet that had fallen over them. Their lack of conversation was a good thing in the end—it allowed them to pick up the faint mewing echoing off the walls of another hallway. Harry flicked out the family cloak with a practiced movement and backed out of the room to cover them all. He closed the door behind him.

"Some…my… Norris?" Filch's voice, barely audible, carried over.

Harry shuffled them down the hall. It wasn't the path that she and Hermione had taken to get upstairs, but she trusted that her brother knew his way around by now. Sure enough, after a few odd turns, they found themselves overlooking the railings fencing in the steep drop to the ground floor. The staircases were moving every which way.

"Shall we leave you to get back on your own or walk you back?" Harry wondered.

Camellia wasn't enjoying the close proximity of three other bodies and thought that, chance of detention or no, she would prefer to go off on her own.

"Can't we look around the castle more?" Hermione demanded.

Camellia felt a headache coming on. She clamped her hand over her friend's in a vice grip.

"Bed," she insisted.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Harry teased.

Zabini cut in before she could retort. "I haven't been to that area."

"Gryffindor tower?" Harry asked.

Camellia could feel the cloak shift when the taller boy nodded. So Harry decided that was the way to go. With a sigh she went along, dealing as best as she could with the discomfort of being huddled so tightly. Her arm was frequently brushing against Zabini's, but she couldn't think of how to go about getting him to switch places with Hermione in front of her. Plus he was tall, so if he was in front of her she wouldn't be able to see. Just as she was pondering the merits of demanding a full shuffle, she found herself walking into Hermione's back and receiving a face full of frizzy hair for her inattention.

"Where did you hear about all these shortcuts?" Hermione asked.

Harry shushed her. "Dad," he whispered.

They were at the foot of the Gryffindor tower. She hadn't even noticed.

"_Elusmus_," Hermione murmured to the portrait.

The sleeping Fat Lady swung open with a loud snore. The common room was empty of everyone but the Weasley twins, both of whom were looking expectantly at the doorway with a piece of parchment spread between them. Harry shoved both her and Hermione out from under the cloak. The Weasleys didn't look surprised to see them.

"Have fun," Harry said.

The portrait fell shut.

"_Have fun_, he says," said the twin on the left.

"But was it to them or to us?" mused the one on the right.

"I don't think anyone is having fun right now," the left decided.

"Not anymore, no!" Hermione huffed.

Camellia pinched the bridge of her nose and resigned herself to after curfew quests for adventure.

-()_()_()-

The paperwork that came with holding so many public offices was never-ending and, not for the first time, Albus Dumbledore wondered if he really should have taken them all. In his old hands was yet another letter from their esteemed Minister of Magic, pleading for advice on yet another trivial matter (whether the napkins for his dinner party were gold or violet was irrelevant as long as there were napkins at all, he privately thought) and the Headmaster was feeling a little weary. With a sigh he dropped the letter and pondered the best way to respond without giving away his true opinion on the matter—that perhaps Cornelius should focus more on the controversial new proposals brought up by Clarence Greengrass than his flamboyant dinners—only for his fireplace to ignite itself with a flash of emerald green. His brow furrowed at the interruption. It was a well-timed one if he were to be honest with himself. With a thought he granted the request for a call and stood to greet whoever might await him in the blazing firebox.

He was surprised to see the head of James Potter floating in the flames. The young man's face was not displaying any negative emotion, very much the opposite of how Lily had looked about seventeen days ago. It was a relief to not see it.

"Morning Professor," his old student greeted. "Mind if I step in for a chat?"

Dumbledore shook himself out of his stupor and nodded. "Of course, come on through."

The bespectacled man stepped out, dressed as casually as ever. No matter the event it seemed that James couldn't bring himself to dress extravagantly. His knee length robe, a flattering almond color, quivered as he brushed himself off. Little soot clouds dissipated into the air, absorbed by the filtering enchantment that bubbled the hearth. Dumbledore waited patiently for James to collect himself.

"I'm sorry about the sudden intrusion," James said sheepishly. "But some questions were keeping me up all night. It was driving me mad."

Dumbledore offered a reassuring smile. "It's no trouble at all. I was just thinking that a distraction would not be amiss."

To underline his words, he gestured grandly at his desk. Despite being a very large one, it was looking rather dwarfed under the deluge of parchment stacked upon it. James let out a rich laugh at the sight of it, voice as mirthful as it was when he was still a student. A feeling of nostalgia washed over him for a moment, though it was soon chased away by curiosity. Dumbledore reclaimed his seat behind the crowded desk and motioned for James to sit at the plush armchair in front of it.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked.

James sighed and his face fell into a more solemn look that matured him far beyond what suited him. "What's going on here?"

"I am not sure what you mean…?" Dumbledore prompted for elaboration.

"Look, I don't mind the hellhound—not after hanging around a werewolf every month for a huge chunk of my schooling here—and I can brush off the troll since no one died." He rubbed his cheek tiredly. "But there's something wrong with your Defense teacher and I'm running my head in circles trying to find out what."

Keeping his voice measured Dumbledore asked, "What makes you think there is anything amiss with Quirinus?"

James pulled a file out of his robes and waved it in the air. The name Quirinus Quirrel was neatly marked at the top. It looked a little worn, like it had been incessantly thumbed through. Dumbledore propped his elbows on the surface of his desk and weaved a bridge for his chin to rest on. James's face did not change. It was still a mixture of expressions. Tired, determined, and quietly demanding. Much like he had been ten years ago when the news of the prophecy was broken to him. He shook off the old memories.

"You have been researching him?"

"Harry was worried," James admitted, "and that worried me."

"I see," he said, "Harry was out after curfew and chased by him. It's no surprise that he was a little scared by—"

James cut him off. "That wouldn't be enough to scare my son. Believe me; he was almost mauled by a mugbear once and still tried to… never mind that. That wasn't what made him nervous. He said Quirrel was talking to a disembodied voice that sounded like a snake while sneaking around the Restricted Section of the library well after midnight. If that isn't suspicious behavior, then Amelia needs to update the training regime."

Not for the first time and not for the last he wondered where the Potter twins had grown up.

"I would not dare try to suggest that Amelia is behind on the times," Dumbledore assured the man, "or that your training was lackluster."

"Then just what is going on here?" James asked again.

James seemed sincerely oblivious and Dumbledore wondered how much he knew or suspected.

"I thought that Lily would have relayed my words," he said carefully.

"Lily?" James looked startled.

"She came to my office just after three in the morning to ask a similar question following the attack of the troll… though she seemed more concerned about Miss Camellia's unsupervised tangle with the creature than anything."

James's brow furrowed and he ran a hand through his hair. It took on the appearance of a bird's nest and Dumbledore amused himself for a moment wondering what sort would take shelter there.

"I didn't know she came here," James admitted.

The information took Dumbledore by surprise. "Truly?"

He buried his face in his hands. "_Lily_, really?" he muttered.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment before James straightened himself up with a shake of his head. Dumbledore leaned back and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, waiting.

"I'm sorry about that," James offered. "She's still very… upset with you. I, honestly I'm not happy about some of the things you did myself, but three in the morning is uncalled for."

"It's been ten years since the news leak, James," Dumbledore sighed.

He understood that he had perhaps toed a line in allowing news of Camellia's vanquishing of Voldemort to get out to the susceptible masses. The people were desperate for any sort of positive update, and explanation, and Dumbledore had felt an obligation to give them one. He couldn't have foreseen the extremity of their fanaticism, the over-the-top adulation that led to the Potter's secret movement.

"That isn't… the only reason," James said.

Dumbledore racked his brain for any other instance where he might have slighted the woman and came to another event, one that occurred shortly before Lily had become pregnant. He didn't think much of the moment; it hadn't even seemed important at all, but what else could it be?

"The Potions position?" he guessed.

James nodded.

"That is more than a little petty," he told him.

He had an uncomfortable flashback of passing over another for a position in his school. That, however, was an entirely different state of affairs.

"You gave the position to Snape," James said, "who hates children and who is far more petty than Lily could ever be."

"You're letting your old rivalry color your judgment," Dumbledore said disapprovingly. "Severus was in need of employment and because of his situation had few other options available."

"A situation he put himself into," James spat. "He took the job solely to spite her when she cut her withering ties to him."

Not wanting an escalation, Dumbledore decided to nip this line of conversation there. "Let us agree to disagree."

James looked unhappy but cooled his temper and leaned back. He returned to the topic he came for to begin with.

"In regards to Quirrel…" he sighed. "I still trust you enough. I do, because you have done a lot of good for a lot of people, but my family comes first. If anything happens, if he does anything, I will be back."

"I understand, James," Dumbledore told him solemnly. "And I assure you that everything is under control."

The auror tiredly nodded and stood. "Lily will be looking for me soon. Sirius is visiting for dinner."

"It was good to see you again, my boy. Give Sirius my best."

He watched his old student step into the fire and vanish, spiraling off to his elusive home, and sighed. It could have gone better, he thought. Fawkes chirped a few notes that typically never failed to lighten his load—it did nothing to diminish the paperwork that he not longer had a distraction from.

**-()_()_()-**

There was certainly something wrong with Quirrel and that irritating stutter was only the tip of the iceberg. Harry rolled the nub of his quill between his fingers and stared blankly ahead of him. The professor was pacing wildly and gesturing with his hands, though he stopped every few moments to adjust the heavy purple turban on his head. Harry would have glared at it if his mind weren't so numb from the unintelligible lecture. He could only sometimes make out the words _hag_ or _jinx_ between the _t-t-t-t-t-tarp_ or whatever it was that the man was supposed to be saying. It was nothing like what he had seen that night in the library—the chilly and confident side of Quirrel that no one would guess that he had.

"Th-then y-you must fl-flick your wand t-to the l-left and…"

That was the eighth time this class period that Quirrel put his hands to the turban. Harry wanted to throw something at it. If their expressions were anything to go by, so did most of his classmates. Hermione was dutifully taking notes though, somehow. Harry wondered if she used short hand or included the stutter just to be sure she missed nothing. Mell's friend was the thorough sort; he didn't put it past her. His own piece of parchment was blank save for the neatly printed _November 18, 1991_ at the very top. He looked to either side of him. Acacia, as she'd insisted he call her, had tried and given up on taking notes. There were doodles of puffskeins, fairies, and fancy repetitions of her name. She was good at astronomy and charms, but most other things left her flustered. It was no surprise that she had quickly lost interest in Quirrel. Blaise, on the other hand…

_What is that?_

Harry angled his should-be notes toward his friend so that he could read the hastily scrawled question. Blaise gave him a bland look. Then he passed Harry his own page.

_Unravel turban  
>crush life from the annoying<br>ugliness must die_

Harry passed it back without a word. He hadn't known that Blaise liked writing poetry. In fact, perhaps he was better off not knowing that.

"V-vampires and o-other things are n-not affected by su-such l-low level s-spells," Quirrel droned on.

Vampires were also not going to be reliably deterred by a garlic scented turban. The pungent smell was probably awful to them—Remus certainly got sick around anything with traces of it—but Harry wondered about the truth of that rumor surrounding the mauve colored monstrosity. He tapped his quill against his thumbnail, pocking it with tiny black stains from the congealed ink on the tip. His fingers were already dyed. He sighed and looked at Quirrel again. The image now just didn't mesh with the one he saw before. This Quirrel, scared of his own shadow, would never chase him down the castle's midnight darkened halls. Was there something about that invisible serpent that gave him confidence? Or was this person an overly elaborate act? His actions in the library threw questions in every direction. The book he was after had detailed information on hellhounds; strengths and weaknesses and habits were all recorded there. Fluffy was protective of a conspicuous trap door. Quirrel, capable of that cold voice and angry pursuit, was likely able to do other things.

Quirrel could be responsible for the troll.

Harry glowered at the thought as it rolled into his head. He couldn't help glancing to the right. Mell was looking just as bored as anyone else despite Hermione nudging her to pay attention. His sister's eyes flickered over to meet his and the dark expression on his face softened into a smile. She scoffed and turned away, but her lips were quirked upward at the corners.

He had no proof so was it alright to do anything? Harry shook his head and looked forward. His eyes met Quirrel's.

"H-homework is s-simply to r-read the next ch-chapter and be pr-prepared for the t-test next class p-period," he told the class.

Harry wasn't listening. The sudden pounding headache that pierced his temples stole all of his attention. Then the bell rang, finally, and he was one of the first out the door. He had a moment before his next class. Should he rest in a dark room or just go to the infirmary? His inattention sent him crashing into another quick-moving body.

"Are you alright?"

A black and yellow tie—Hufflepuff. Harry tried to smile, but he grimaced instead.

"Just a headache," he told the other boy.

Understanding filled the Hufflepuff's grey eyes when he noticed where Harry had come from. He nodded slowly.

"That class does that to the best of us." He clapped Harry shoulder. "If you're sure you're alright."

Harry managed a proper grin this time. "I'm sorry for running into you. I'll be fine in a bit."

"Well alright," the boy said. "Just find your way to Madame Pomfrey if it doesn't clear up. I have class now. See you around."

They parted ways and Harry resisted the urge to massage his scalp. The pain felt exactly like that night. He wondered if Quirrel knew who he had been chasing through the halls. Then he wondered what to do about it if he did. He shook his head and joined the crowd, deciding that to think upon it later.


	11. Frost and Some Fidgeting

**Advisory Whatever:** This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. _It has: _Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.

**A/N:** This whole adult thing… isn't it a little troublesome? "RL," I mean. Anyway, um, I'm working on a few things. There's another story in the works that was supposed to be a one-shot that is now trying to grow. But AntiHyphen is on the front burner and that other story requires me to actually… ugh. I have to pick up HBP again for confirmation of things. So that story will have to simmer in the slow cooker for… a long time. Hopefully it doesn't fall apart while I procrastinate. Well I have to get around to it anyway to help flesh this story out more as well, but since that one is post-OotP, it'd require it much faster so… But sorry if this chapter is a litle boring or rushed perhaps. I'm trying to get things moving... just been in a bit of a funk lately. And the cover was scribbled on Paint in, like, twenty minutes. Haha, I might do a better one if I get that bored again.

Anyway, I have a job now. Night shift, full time, the works. Sooo, I either work on this on the weekends I have off (between errands) or in the afternoon before I leave now that I have mostly settled in to this new routine. I'm not sure how much faster or slower I will write on account of this yet.

**CHAPTER 11 - Frost and Some Fidgeting**

Camellia rubbed her forehead and made an agitated sound. Harry looked up from the homework assignment that Hermione was making him finish.

"Is the headache still bothering you?" Hermione asked.

Camellia grumbled, "I'm out of potions."

"Tell mum to send more," Harry told her. "You look awful."

She scowled at him and flicked her candy wrapper at his face. It made it halfway across their table before fluttering weakly to the side and landing on the floor. Hermione picked it up with a huff and pocketed it with the intent of throwing it away later. Camellia ignored her grumbling with practiced ease and put her head down, hoping that the darkness from shielding her face with her arms would help soothe the hammering beneath her skull. It didn't, but now she didn't want to make herself sick by moving again.

"Are you getting sick?" Hermione asked quietly.

Camellia shrugged. "Maybe."

"Want to go to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione continued.

"No."

"You're going anyway," Harry sighed.

She heard the rustling of parchment being gathered up and the gentle clinking of ink wells being capped. Harry's hand closed around her arm and tugged.

"I don't want to," she muttered.

Harry yanked her to her feet. "I need to go there as well so you may as well just come on."

Hermione scurried along behind them. Few people were wandering the halls on Saturday. With the chill in the November air they were all squirreled away in their common rooms or in the club areas. It didn't take them long to reach the infirmary. A couple students were just leaving, laughing awkwardly. She was busy today.

"Madam Pomfrey," Harry called.

The mediwitch turned, looking unsurprised to see him. Camellia frowned.

"This is the third time this week, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey tutted and went straight to her potions cabinet.

"Mell needs one," he informed her.

"Do you both get migraines like this at the turn of winter?" she asked.

"Sometimes…" Harry said vaguely.

Pomfrey dosed them both and shooed them off, turning to tend to some students that were looking a little charred.

"Exploding Snap Club, I presume?" they heard her say as they left.

Camellia turned to eye Harry suspiciously once they were a few hallways away. Hermione was just looking on worriedly.

"I didn't know you weren't feeling well," Hermione said to him. "You didn't say anything."

Harry shrugged and waved off her concern. "I just haven't been sleeping well."

Camellia narrowed her eyes. "You _never_ sleep well to begin with."

He grinned at her. "Actually, I usually sleep great. I just don't sleep _much_."

"So what's different?" Hermione cut in.

"Weird dreams," Harry told her. "I think Quirrel's garlic has been getting to me in class lately. I keep dreaming that his turban is trying to smother me and I wake up smelling it everywhere. Of course, it could be Blaise leaving pieces of garlic around to force me to clean up my floor."

Camellia couldn't see Zabini doing something like that.

"House elves would take care of it," she said flatly.

"They don't touch the personal rooms in Slytherin," Harry corrected. "We're in charge of our own space."

"House elves?" Hermione asked, confused. "Never mind that; you're having nightmares? Is it because exams are coming up?"

Camellia couldn't help scoffing at the thought of Harry caring that much about tests. As long as he learned what he wanted, he didn't care about grades, though somehow he kept them all up without trying. The details of his dreams suddenly hit her like the Hogwarts Express.

"Did you say you dreamt of Quirrel's turban?" she tentatively asked.

He gave her a searching look. "Yeah?"

"I… had something similar. I barely remember, but I woke up with the impression I was being strangled by something purple," she admitted.

"Do you share dreams?" Hermione demanded, voice hushed.

"You're really interested in the twin thing aren't you?" Camellia demanded, not really annoyed.

Hermione flushed and mumbled something she couldn't make out.

"Isn't it more of a divination thing?" Harry mused. "Similar magic and concerns or something? Mum doesn't like 'fortune telling' so I don't really know much about it."

Camellia felt her mother's view of the subject was a fair one and didn't care either way. Harry's interest in the subject was something she didn't understand. He mostly kept his curiosity to himself after their parents' odd reactions to him asking after that branch of magic, but sometimes it just came up. It wouldn't be a surprise if he took the class in his third year. She shook her head and realized that she missed a piece of her brother's conversation with Hermione.

"I'll call him 'Professor' when I learn something from him," Harry said dryly. "Now let's go upstairs. I need to talk to the twins."

For the life of her, Camellia couldn't figure out why a terrible feeling of foreboding came over her just then.

**-()_()_()-**

"Winter's the best," George remarked.

Fred grunted in agreement but didn't move. He'd built up a halfway decent chair of snow and was determined to lounge in it for the rest of their reprieve. George had just dropped himself to the ground. Both of them were exhausted. They had it coming, casting all those homing spells.

"I wonder if Quirrel knows it was us," George mused.

"Oh most definitely," Fred replied. "We can expect a detention or two scrubbing toilets the moment we step inside."

"Well if he would take off that unflattering turban, we wouldn't have to take such drastic measures," George sighed.

"Harry doesn't like it either," Fred told him. "Or Mell. Been having lots of nightmares about it, they have."

"I was there when Harry told us, you know. He asked us to help do something about it," George dryly reminded him. "But that _is_ odd, isn't it?"

"Undeniably," Fred nodded.

"So what're we going to do about it?" George asked.

Fred grinned slowly. "The same thing we always do."

"Raise hell?" George questioned.

"You knew that all along," Fred scolded.

"Well the conversation wouldn't carry itself," George defended.

"Inconvenient that," Fred said thoughtfully. "Let's make a note to find a remedy."

"When we have more funding," George agreed.

"Naturally!" Fred cried.

They fell into silence with their faces set in frowns that would scare anyone who knew them. It meant that they were thinking and their thought processes rarely took them through innocent places.

"We'll be sticking around here for the holidays," Fred eventually commented.

"Shame," George sighed, "imagine what we could have done with some dragon scales, or dung, or egg shells even."

"We'll get more privacy around here though," Fred pointed out.

"Unless Ron follows us around," George retorted.

"He's still young and impressionable. He can be corrupted yet." Fred reassured him.

"Mum would be pretty mad if we did." George grinned.

"All the more reason to do it," Fred replied with a smile of his own.

"Think he could get along with little Mell and Mione?" George mused.

"No," Fred bluntly rebutted.

"Ah," George nodded sagely in understanding.

Ron, though a little more tactful after being confronted by Harry about the girls' potential demise, was still dense and stubborn. With Camellia cautious and stubborn, and with Hermione wickedly intelligent and stubborn, there was no way such a match would work without a slew of headaches on everyone's end. They both sighed but let the idea drop.

"So… what?" George prompted. "There's a week 'til sign ups to stay for the break. Harry's going home, of course."

"We'll just have to torment Quirrel on our own." Fred shrugged, then added, "And Snape."

"Why Snape? Not that I mind," George questioned.

"Because no one likes Snape," Fred declared with finality.

It was as good a reason as any.

**-()_()_()-**

Sign ups for those that wished to stay for the winter holidays became available during lunch. Harry didn't pay the lists any mind when he passed them, looking forward to going home and having dinner with everyone. And treacle tart. Remus made the absolute best treacle tart. Acacia skipped alongside of him, cheerfully relating an incident that happened in the Charms Club involving a luminous balloon and a rubber chicken. Both of them paused when they saw Blaise at one of the announcement boards with a quill in hand. His name was neatly printed under the Weasley twins' and a Su Li, who Harry remembered vaguely as being a Ravenclaw in their year. Blaise noticed their approach and turned to face them.

"Staying?" Harry prompted.

His friend inclined his head. "Stepfather is ill. Mother says it's best if I remain here."

Acacia shrunk a little at the explanation and declined to say anything, surprising Harry only slightly. She was generally unfailingly polite, but around Blaise she clammed up. He wasn't entirely sure of why, though he did understand that sometimes people just didn't get along. Acacia's cheerful nature didn't mesh well with Blaise's perpetual apathy.

"I'll send you something to read," Harry offered.

Blaise nodded with an almost pleased expression and wandered off to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't reading or staring unnervingly at people who annoyed him. Harry turned to Acacia with an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry," he told her, "I'm sure it'll be fine."

She looked very dubious. "Harry… his stepfather… that's her third."

"Tragic isn't it?" he said blithely. "She just can't seem to find anyone to settle down with for long."

"Really…" Acacia had an odd, almost sour look on her face.

Harry shrugged. "It really isn't any of my business either way, but her luck is something else. I hope everything turns out well for Mrs. Zabini."

She was already obscenely rich and Harry couldn't say he understood why she was so interested in getting more any more money, but if that was what she needed to do then what could he say?

"I'm sure it'll turn out very well for her," Acacia said wryly. "Like always."

The current Mr. Zabini would be dead by the end of December. His dad actually had a bet on that. Not that _they_ needed the extra money, but his dad had said something about office-relations and obligations and his words were so winding and confusing that Harry tuned him out after deciding that the man just did it for fun.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" Acacia asked.

"Family dinner." Harry shrugged. "We usually just do whatever comes to mind."

"We haven't had a proper family dinner since my aunt died." Acacia sighed morosely. "Mother hated it because they didn't get along, but I miss my cousin."

"I haven't even met most of my cousins," Harry said thoughtfully. "Well, actually… I'm related to a lot of people, so I can't say I haven't _met _them."

"We're not related," Acacia remarked, a little quickly.

"Would it be embarrassing for you if we were?" Harry asked her, faintly amused.

She turned her head and didn't answer.

**-()_()_()-**

Hermione pressed her folded robes into her trunk as tightly as she could. Her belongings were still bulging out even with all of her weight pushing down on them. She huffed, wondering if the books should have gone of top with the clothes underneath, but she was so worried that her books wouldn't fit… she cast a look at her bed. The neatly made comforter had long rolls of parchment strewn over it, pooling on the floor. _Hellhounds,_ was the title of one and there was very little written under it. _Locks,_ was the title of the other. She was satisfied to see that it was almost full with in-depth notes. There was much more in the Hogwarts library about locking charms and how to break them than there was on hellhounds. She didn't see why. There was far more room for abuse of locking charms and unlocking charms than of knowing a rare beast's basic biology. Her hope that the Muggle World might have something had led her to writing her parents. They promised to look up books on mythological creatures. Knowing now that many of them were real meant that some of those books might have some real facts. It would be up to her to separate them from the embellishments, but she loved a good puzzle. Hermione quickly gathered her notes up and looked for her school bag. Maybe she could fit her socks in with them?

There was barely enough room for her scrolls between the books and quills and ink wells.

She sighed. "I need to get a bigger bag."

"Just get an expanding one."

Camellia's voice made her jump and spin around. She hadn't even heard her enter the room. No matter how much she denied it, the green eyed girl was very similar to Harry. Their knack for sneaking up on people… she hoped that it wasn't a genetic thing or her future visit to the Potters' home would be one full of paranoia.

"An expanding bag?"

Once again, the little differences between this world and hers were showing. No one in the Wizarding World ran out of space because they could magic up more when they needed it. A muggleborn wouldn't know it, but all the magic-raised would be so used to it that it wouldn't occur to them to explain. Hermione nodded in understanding.

"Where would I get one?" she wondered. "Could I make it myself?"

A bag made of an odd fabric hit her head and flopped to the floor. Hermione picked it up and flipped it over curiously.

"Happy Christmas."

Camellia had sprawled over her bed and picked out one of Parvati's magazines to flick through. Her face occasionally contorted in a grimace with each page turned. Hermione went back to observing the bag. It was made of a thick brown material that looked like leather but didn't quite feel like it. The clasps on the strap were a neutral grey and there was padding to keep it from slipping from the shoulder. Of course, Hermione wouldn't have to worry about her bags slipping so often if she put the strap over her head and let it cross her chest, but she couldn't stand it. Camellia's words finally registered.

"What? I couldn't!"

Another page was flipped. The title of the magazine was _Witch Weekly_. No wonder her friend had such a sour expression.

"Happy Christmas," Camellia repeated. "I can get a new one. Just get me something interesting from the Muggle World."

A bag with extra-dimensional storage abilities in exchange for a nonmagical trinket? That wouldn't be a fair trade at all! Another thought occurred to her.

"Isn't your mother muggleborn?" Hermione asked. "Why don't you ever go there? Surely you wouldn't be recognized there."

"We went to the zoo, once," Camellia shrugged. "It was interesting, but since we moved into the Navel we haven't left the house at all. Just to be safe."

"Navel?"

"Wizarding homes have names. I guess you could call them addresses. Mine's Nature's Navel."

"If you're supposed to be hidden then is it okay to just give away your address?"

Hermione bit her lip, feeling a bit worried but liking the sound of her best friend's home. Camellia looked unconcerned.

"It's fine," was the only response.

"If you say so…" she relented.

There was a period of comfortable silence while Hermione rearranged her packing and Camellia scoffed her way through ridiculous beauty tips. Every now and again there were good articles, Hermione told herself. She hadn't seen any yet, but she was sure they were there somewhere.

"Did your parents decide whether you're going to France over break?" Camellia asked.

"For a few days," Hermione confirmed. "But mostly we'll be at home."

"I'll owl you."

Hermione smiled. "I appreciate it."

**-()_()_()-**

The platform was only slightly less crowded than it was at the beginning of the year. James never really realized what a hassle it could be until September 1st had rolled around. Back when he attending Hogwarts his only concerns had been that he was going to school or that he was free from school. Looking out at the swarm of people as a parent was completely different. He huddled against a pillar, eyes scanning every person, silently urging the train to hurry up. It was cold, he missed his kids, and he left Sirius alone in the kitchen. He ducked deeper into the shadows when someone passed him too closely. It wasn't that he was paranoid. He just didn't want anyone to tail him and end up pestering the twins when they met up.

He sighed heavily in relief when he heard the familiar whistle blowing. The crowd congealed thickly around the shining red train, bodies melding together like their urgency would get them out of traffic faster. James held back and waited. Mell would no doubt insist upon being the last out to avoid the rush and Harry would indulge her because it was a sensible enough idea. As much as he wanted to get home before his friend ate them out of it (or the house ate his friend, whichever came first), he didn't feel like jumping into _that_ fray. It took about half an hour before the station thinned with the _pop, crack, snap_ of apparation. James casually approached the doors to find his children with a pair of girls. A woman he recognized as Neoma Moon stepped forward from the left and a couple was advancing from the right.

"What took you so long?" Moon asked the blonde impatiently.

The girl looked sheepish. "The hallway was so crowded that I couldn't get out so we just waited. Sorry, mother."

Moon gave a once over to her daughter companions and huffed, gesturing for the girl to follow. She bid goodbye to the twins and the other girl before scurrying off and side-along apparating with her mother. Harry spotted his approach first and beamed, nudging his sister. He got to them at the same time as the other couple, who must be the relatives of the brunette that stood next to Mell.

"Titania Granger," the woman offered, waving.

"Mum!"

The girl, who James could now confirm as Hermione, embraced her parents and turned to her friends and then to him. He smiled.

"James Potter," he introduced in return.

The other man looked faintly embarrassed. "Just call me Granger."

He was reminded of someone, but the details escaped before he could catch up with them. Mostly because he was distracted by the petulant expression of Titania's face.

"Are these your friends, Hermione?" Granger asked hastily.

More names were thrown around, but Granger was apparently very tight lipped about his. It was probably embarrassing. Something like that new recruit with the pink hair. Tonks. That was who he was thinking of. He wondered what could be worse than Nymphadora.

"Did you get a new bag, Hermione?" Titania asked.

Mell's expanding bag was draped over the girl's shoulder. James marked 'new bag' under his mental list of things to get for Christmas presents.

"It was an early gift when I couldn't fit my books in my trunk," Hermione explained sheepishly.

Her parents smiled fondly. There was a brief silence that James felt was a little awkward. Granger shifted on his feet.

"Well, we need to get going if we're going to be ready to leave in the morning," he told his family.

"It was nice meeting you," James said.

Once farewells were exchanged and the Grangers headed for the barrier to the Muggle World, he turned to the twins. He beamed at them and ushered them to the now-empty apparation points. With a gentle _pop_ they vanished from Platform 9 ¾ and reappeared many, many miles elsewhere.

"We're home!" he called into the yard.

His voice echoed around the mammoth tree in the center of the clearing. Drooping leaves shivered and pulled away, revealing the house that sat merged with nature. The sight of his and Lily's chaotic masterpiece of a haven never failed to cheer him up. Judging by the expressions worn by his children, the sentiment was one shared by the family. He let them drink in the view of their house that they hadn't seen in months for a moment longer before coaxing them into the front door.

"Tell me about your school year so far." he prompted. "I want to know _everything_ that didn't go into your letters."

If they were anything like him—and they definitely were—there was a lot more to tell about their first semester at Hogwarts.


	12. Winter Break

**Advisory Whatever:** This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. _It has: _Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.

**A/N: **I was sick some of it. I had appointments. I had work. My computer Blue Screen of Death'ed me. The internet was acting up. You know, RL. I try to keep my profile updated to let people know I'm still breathing. Anywho, _unless I state specifically that I'm abandoning something, or that something is complete, I plan on working on it again sometime_. Unless something irreparable happens to me. That's the only way there will be no notice 'cause no one else will be logging into this account to explain. But that's just saying. I'd be really embarassed if this sorry filler chapter (that I'm still awfully unsatisfied about, but didn't want to rewrite a third or fourth time) was the last thing I posted. Especially when the next chapter is when things actually happen...

And in-depth descriptions of the Potter house won't come until they're visited. They're used to the place so they're not taking everything in at once. Next chapter is about a fifth done already, so that won't be too long coming, hopefully. Mind you, I have medical things going to right now so "won't be long" might mean a month...

**CHAPTER 12 - Winter Break**

Lily's hands were still twined into her half braided hair when she took in the pandemonium her kitchen had fallen into. Her feet paused at the leafy threshold, but her hands didn't stop moving even as her eyes roamed over her children's energetic cooking. The room, and the rest of the ground floor, smelled strongly of an eclectic mix of fresh baked muffins, omelets, and bacon. Camellia was at the oven, peering into the dark glass with attentive eyes. Harry was setting platters of bacon and eggs onto the table, aided helpfully by vines curling around glasses and arranging them semi-neatly. The countertops were covered in flour and grease. Lily swiftly knotted a tie around her plaited hair and tossed it behind her.

"It looks like you two are having fun," she remarked.

Camellia looked up at her sheepishly and Harry smiled beatifically.

"We'll clean up," Camellia offered, shooting a look at her brother.

Harry just looked amused. "If you want."

James took the option away by ambling in, glasses askew, and wordlessly waving the mess away. His wand vanished back into the voluminous sleeve of his sleeping robe as he took a seat at the table.

"This looks good," he yawned.

Her husband didn't even seem to notice the creeping flora dropping petals into his cup. Lily swatted at it and sat. A pot of tea was placed before her by her blushing daughter.

"It's green," she muttered.

Harry took the muffins out of the oven. Blueberry, it looked like.

"You should do this more often," Lily told them. "You cook better than me."

Harry grinned in thanks, but Camellia threw herself into a chair with an embarrassed huff. Her plate was filled rapidly with generous helpings of everything, almost as though she hadn't eaten all year. A red plum was snatched from the fruit bowl and bit into just as quickly.

"Where are the oranges?" she grumbled.

"Huffy got into them," Lily said simply.

The little puffskein was still bloated and napping soundly in a crevice somewhere under James's side of the bed, possibly curled up in the hat he had declared missing several weeks ago. Camellia sighed around the pit she had already extricated.

"Of course he did," she said cynically.

"Don't be so down about it," Harry scolded lightly. "You ate plenty of them at Hogwarts. You probably ate them out of all of their fruit. It's all you ate."

"It's _not_," she disagreed. "Did you try the lamb? The rice pudding? The _potatoes_? Why would I eat only fruit with that around me?"

Harry considered this for a moment. "I was more concerned with the treacle tart…"

Lily watched them argue with a fond smile tugging at her mouth up until the point where they chased each other out of the kitchen and toward the back door.

"Bundle up!" she shouted.

She waited for their confirmation and then plucked another muffin from the pan. James was already on his third and almost aware of his surroundings. Good. They could commiserate by the fire and decide what to do for the winter break. He smiled at her like he read her mind.

**-()_()_()-**

The food related argument had fallen into a string of other disagreements and eventually into a not-quite passionate challenge that pushed her stamina to its limits. Her breath was coming out in short gasps that sent puff after puff of white fog into the winter air and her cheeks were so wind bitten that they burned. Camellia ducked behind a tree to hide and crouched down, ears straining. The telltale crunching of boots in snow approached her area. She curled her fists into the ground and carefully molded a snowball. She stood the moment the footsteps stopped and whirled around the trunk that shielded her from view. Her weapon of choice hit a bush, exploding into a fine white powder. Harry had rolled out of the way, grinning despite how ridiculous he looked with ice sticking to his back and hat.

"Too slow," he taunted cheerfully.

Her hands were already a blur, scooping, packing, throwing rapidly with little concern with aim. She nimbly sidestepped several of Harry's attacks, but he was getting closer, arms loaded with a very large sphere.

"What are you doing!?" Camellia shouted over her shoulder. "Don't throw _that_ at me!"

Harry laughed and his glee was contagious. She fought a grin even as she dove under every sort of tree or bush that she came across. He was still in pursuit, but with his arms full he was slower than her. The extra speed didn't help her when she hit a dip in the ground, tripped, and rolled down the slope. Harry slid to a stop and dropped the ball.

"_Cold_," she hissed, startled.

It had hit her lap with a _splat_ and chilled her right to the bone despite the warming spells woven into her clothes. She shoved it off and brushed her legs until she was satisfied that most of it was gone. Then she turned to her cackling brother with a glare.

"Idiot," she said.

In response, he rolled down to join her. He was breathing just as heavily as she was from the long run. She could just barely see the house between the rows of trees surrounding them. Or could she? The house _was_ half tree, so she couldn't be entirely sure, but she fancied she could make out the fairy lights hovering over the back door. Harry flopped to the ground and tucked his hands under his head, staring up at the silver-grey sky. After a moment, she did the same. It looked like it was going to snow again.

"The snowmen have to wait until tomorrow," Harry commented, "so they don't get buried."

"You're the one that wants to build them," Camellia mumbled.

"You didn't argue," Harry retorted. "That's agreement."

"That's being neutral," she disagreed. "There's arguing, being neutral, and agreeing. All separate."

"You're just being difficult," Harry accused.

"Who's being difficult?"

"You're always difficult, so who else?"

The trees rattled. Camellia paused for a moment to consider that Harry hadn't yelled that loudly. Actually, he hadn't yelled at all. They both sat up and looked around, suddenly wary. They weren't far from the house, but sometimes the more dangerous creatures would wander too close for comfort. She and Harry both stood slowly, scanning the area. Their heads shot up when the chattering started. Leafy little creatures were peering around the trunks of towering trees. It was only their movements that allowed the twins to see them.

"Just bowtruckles," Camellia sighed in relief.

She spoke too soon. The high pitched cackling abruptly muted and the world went white, then black, and then it was freezing.

"Nng!"

Her attempt to open her mouth to speak earned her a mouthful of snow, so she spat it out as best as she could and started clawing and punching through the avalanche that had been abruptly dumped on them. She gasped when she hit fresh air.

"Harry?" she called.

She wriggled out of the pile and crawled around, trying to figure out where he might be. There was no movement and, against her will, a stab of apprehension cut through her chest. She picked a spot and started digging with fervor.

"Harry?" she tried again.

To the left of her, just a little, she was answered by a small jet of fire piercing the pile, melting all the ice to revealed her steadily dampening brother. The fear she felt eased away too slowly for comfort.

"Who casts a fire in a confined space?" she demanded.

"I do," he said casually. "I didn't feel like digging."

His eyes sought the trees where the bowtruckles lived. They were now just barely dusted with snow, rather than caked with it like they had been just minutes before.

"That was just like something I might do," Harry said admiringly.

"Harry, you…"

Camellia shook her head, grabbed his arm, and started dragging him back to the house. He followed easily, understanding that he definitely needed a change of clothes at least. He was dripping.

"Idiot!" she repeated.

He had the gall to laugh at her again.

**-()_()_()-**

"…and then Xeno rushes in with this axe strung up with mistletoe and Luna starts crying because she thinks he's going to execute all the nargles for stealing his hair—and he is bald now, by the way, but won't tell me how that happened—"

"The nargles, probably," Lily interjected wryly.

"—so Luna throws a bowl of pudding at his face!" Sirius finished dramatically, flinging his hands into the air for emphasis.

"What kind of pudding?" Mell asked offhandedly.

She was organizing presents under the tree. The haphazard pile had made her frown upon entering the room and she insisted. James hoped that she wasn't organizing by person. It was boring to just pull a pile to you and have at it. Much more entertaining to dive on the tree and dig through shreds of paper to reach the prizes beneath. He peaked just to be sure and was relieved to see that she was only stacking them evenly based on size.

"Plum, probably," Sirius replied. "You learn not to ask when it comes to the Lovegoods' food."

Lily was peeling an apple. It was taking shape into some sort of creature with a crooked horn. He locked eyes with his wife for a moment. She noticed what she'd carved and bit the head off. James winced and averted his gaze to the mantle above the fireplace. Smiling people waved at him, most family, but some friends. A portrait of the twins reading together in the library caught his eye.

"We need more pictures," he realized abruptly.

Harry gave him an odd look. "The mantle's full."

"We need more _shelves_ then, and then more pictures," James corrected. "Recent ones… like some pictures of you two from Hogwarts with your friends."

The twins shared a look (just what was _that_ about?) and shrugged. They tended to shrug a lot. James didn't know where they got that habit from. He looked back to the tree where all the boxes were arranged very neatly. It looked good. One particular present, wrapped in a shimmering golden paper, caught his eye and he smiled.

"Speaking of pictures," Sirius started again. "Xeno gave Luna this odd camera that mutates every picture taken. They're thinking of using them as a new puzzle in _The Quibbler_."

"That sounds fun," Harry said. "But we don't get it at school, you know, since mum's the one subscribed."

"I forgot about that," James mused. "I'll get you a subscription then."

"Done," Mell announced.

James noticed that her eyes were on a small package from one Hermione Granger. He was glad that she had been able to connect with someone. The frizzy haired child with her strange parents seemed like an alright girl. His eyes slid to Harry. His son was prodding a package from _his_ friend and James shuddered to think what might be in it. Vials of poison? A cursed dagger? He told himself that he was joking, that an eleven year old wouldn't be giving those sorts of gifts, but a treacherous part of his mind was still wary.

"It looks good," Lily complimented. "Much better than James's arrangement."

"What arrangement?" he laughed. "I just shoved everything under the tree."

"Exactly," she said dryly. "Now it will at least look good until tomorrow night."

"Everyone will be here, right?" Harry asked.

Lily was already shaking her head before he finished his question. She tossed the core of her eaten apple behind her and didn't even look when a vine snatched it out of the air. Her face was twisted in a frown.

"Just us here and Remus," she replied. "The others are preoccupied with some political hoops. Something about publishing laws and vampire conflicts and shady Knockturn brokers—all rubbish. Just a waste of time."

Harry and Mell both look disappointed, though the latter tried to hide it by turning away to fool with some ribbons. James winced and, in an attempt to distract everyone, clapped loudly. That got everyone's attention.

"It's getting late," he said cheerfully. "So, how about a _Quibbler_ puzzle before bed?"

Sirius, with an answering smile, brandished the newest edition at the room's occupants. An abstract illustration of a fire spirit glared at them from the cover. **'Ministry Cover-Up or Clever Scare Tactic!? Heliopaths in London!'**the headline read.

"The Ministry lost its last bastion of cleverness when Lovegood died," Lily scoffed.

"Cover-up then?" Harry suggested cheekily.

"You know it," Lily agreed.

The tabloid was opened and set down on the table with the five of them huddled around it. James let the twins pick the puzzle to start with as he lazily looked over everyone around him. The happy faces and the warm atmosphere were enough to make him forget that anything was wrong. He sighed easily and settled in to spend time with his family.

**-()_()_()-**

Blaise was spending Christmas in the library. It wasn't like he cared overly much for the lauded holiday, though he did send gifts to his mother and Harry. Pince, apparently, was of a similar mindset. She stood sentry over her domain just like any other morning. Or perhaps the only way she could enjoy Christmas was by basking in the company of her precious books. Regardless, her presence meant that the library was open, which allowed him something to do, so he could not complain. He flicked to the next page of his chosen book, eyes on the properties of these… flesh-eating slugs. That man, Hagrid, was muttering angrily about them earlier to an equally flustered Professor Sprout. Blaise had decided that anything with 'flesh-eating' in its name had to be wonderfully awful.

_The mucus secreted by these creatures can be used effectively in many potions, from common cough suppressants to heavily restricted acid brews. The prevalence of the flesh-eating slug is a positive thing for potioneers trying to meet the demands for potions created by their slime. Others, however, do not share this mindset. Because they release such a mordant fluid, most things they travel over corrode and are often irreparably damaged, as is the case when they go feeding on the leaves of typical household plants._

'Irreparably damaged' and 'heavily restricted acid brews' were the phrases that clicked in his head. He eyes the pictures of the ugly creature and scanned the text. Where did they live and what did they hunt? If they were so common, why hadn't he heard of them before? Blaise frowned and thought back. Perhaps he just hadn't heard of them by name? His house-elf, the hysteric little thing, was always going on about frying spicy slugs for a mid-morning snack. He nodded, determined that this was indeed the case. He flipped another page, looking for methods of capture, and ignored the sound of footsteps clicking on the stone floor of the hallway.

_Flesh-eating slugs are not very difficult to capture with the proper materials._

The library doors opened and the scent of garlic washed over the room. Blaise's nose twitched irritably.

_Dragonhide gloves are more than able to withstand the acidic mucus._

"M-m-madame P-Pince," Quirrel greeted. "F-fine Chr-christmas morning isn't it?"

"Every day in this haven is a good one," Pince replied tonelessly. "How may I help you, Professor Quirrel?"

_Reinforced glass—_

"I-I was j-just wondering… y-you wouldn't happen t-to have th-the _Encyclopedia o-of Magical B-beasts: XXXX Edition_, w-would you?"

Blaise gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the book.

"_Encyclopedia of Magical Beasts: XXXX Edition_ was checked out by Headmaster Dumbledore on November 17 of this year," Pince said blandly. "He will have it for an unspecified time-period. You may feel free to ask him about the text."

_Reinforced glass—_

"O-oh n-n-no! W-wouldn't w-want to bother P-professor D-d-Dumbledore. I j-just was c-curious i-is all. Th-thought it would be a g-good text for m-my cl-class n-next year."

Blaise closed his book and glared between the shelves at the monstrous, foul smelling turban. He was trying to _read_ and the man just kept babbling. To speak so annoyingly… the man would do everyone a favor by remaining silent. He would learn more from a pantomimed class performance than the relentless stuttering, and no encyclopedia would ever change that. In no mood to read any further, Blaise tucked the book away with a silent vow to retrieve it later and slipped out of the library. He sneered once he reached the corridor.

It reeked of garlic.

Blaise made a hasty retreat for the outdoors.

"Well, well…"

"What do we have here?"

To what would be his eternal embarrassment, this moment of ire-inspired impulsiveness sent him crashing right into a pair of identical redheads.

**-()_()_()-**

Her room held a permanent aroma. It had the musty smell of old books mixed with the sharp tang of ink. This was entirely unsurprising, due to the ceiling high bookshelves that took up most of the space. Three out of four walls were covered; the last was spared for a bed, a desk, and a dresser. Hermione traced the cover of the newest addition to her collection. The laminated hard cover was smooth and cool beneath her fingers. She sighed happily and resisted the urge to open it and immediately start taking notes. It was a book about lock-picking.

She considered herself very fortunate to have parents that asked no pointed questions.

She considered herself very fortunate indeed.

Hermione laughed quietly and set it down, hands eagerly seeking out another book that had found its way to her home. Hedwig had dropped it off. The beautiful white owl even stayed long enough to be cooed over by her excitable mother. The book in her hands was from Camellia and Harry. The cover was green and embossed with gold lettering. It was Hugh Morris's new book, _Set-ups and Takedowns_, emphasizing the importance of outsmarting opponents (whether political-, social-, or field-based), and offering tips on how to do so. Hardly the first book of its nature, but the author's black sense of humor was a fresh outlook on the subject—according to one Vindictus Viridian, whose commentary was boxed on the back just above the summary.

The struggle of deciding which to read first was tearing at her brain!

But after a moment of thought, the lock-picking book won out. Her logic was this: she needed to know how to get to her opponents before she could begin the task of outwitting them. That was how adventurers did it, was it not? So Hermione slowly opened the cover, inhaled that scent that was unique to brand new books, and fell onto her bed.

It was perhaps two paragraphs later that found her interrupted by her mother's sing-song voice floating up the stairs.

"Hermione, dinner! Put it away until you've eaten!"

She considered herself very fortunate to have parents that ensured she ate when she was supposed to. Really, she did.

She sighed and hauled herself out of her room.

**-()_()_()-**

Harry was sprawled on the floor of the den, half under the tree that was now emptied of its load of gifts. His head was pillowed on an unopened copy of the fourth edition that he had wanted so badly and his new multi-purpose knife, courtesy of Blaise, was tucked safely into a robe pocket. Mell had the flute given to him by Hagrid. She was interested despite herself and was testing notes at random over the racket in the background that was their parents' war with wrapping paper and tinsel. They already had their fill of that action earlier. Harry was sure that, like him, Mell was still feeling the cold tingle under her skin from the day spent out in the snow. Their army of puffskeins and snowmen grinned cheerfully at everyone from the yard.

"Can I borrow it sometimes?" Mell muttered.

Harry lazily looked up. "Can I borrow those hairclips sometimes?"

She glared heatedly. Harry found it hilarious how quickly her hands shot to the little metal oranges that now pinned her hair away from her face.

"I'm only joking," he said, laughing. "You can."

He untangled his feet from the tree skirt and stood, stretching. His sister did the same soon after. They both turned to the chaos around them just in time to see Sirius roll over the back of the sofa to avoid having tinsel tied into his hair by their father. Remus was not untouched, but he was unruffled, not minding the metallic strings draped over his body. He was far too focused on his mug of steaming hot cocoa to notice anything else.

"Where'd mum go?" Harry asked.

"Dessert in the kitchen," Sirius said breathlessly. "In a few minutes, she said."

"Treacle tart and apple pie!" James added. "Along with some chocolate cake for Remus of course."

"I may even share," Remus said mildly, "though that seems unlikely."

"Then I won't make you any more cocoa," Mell threatened.

"Then Camellia may have a slice," he corrected.

The werewolf rolled his eyes at Sirius's answering chicken clucks.

"It's an investment, not an act of cowardice," Remus countered. "Unlike what I could say of you on multiple occasions."

"Like when mum threatened to tie him outside with the rock dolls if he didn't stop sneaking icing off our birthday cake," Mell offered.

"Like when dad threatened to burn his collection of Witch Weekly magazines," Harry continued.

Sirius looked at him oddly. "I don't have a collection of Witch Weekly magazines."

"Then why did you react to that?" Harry asked.

His godfather shrugged. "I get threatened so much that I stopped paying attention to what the threat actually was and just do what I was asked to."

Sirius seemed entirely unaffected by the weight of the three stares on him, so Harry gave up and stood. He headed for the kitchen, where the mixed scents of dessert originated. He stopped at the arch and looked back at the group still gathered around the tree.

"They're already eating ahead of us," he said blandly.

He went in. His mother had a knife in hand and was slicing the cake. His father was making another pot of cocoa.

"They don't believe you," she said as soon as he walked in. "Not after the third time you did that."

Harry offered a mischievous grin and grabbed a plate.

"They should," he told her, "right?"

She swiped a line of chocolate icing off of Remus's cake in response.

"Right," she agreed.

His father snickered quietly and dumped a pie wedge onto his dish.

"Right," he agreed.

The others were summoned by the telltale scraping of forks and exaggerated commentary on how great everything tasted, though none of them had taken more than a bite. Harry laughed at the unheated scowls shot his way. They ought to know better than to think him predictable by now.


	13. Colliding Plots

**Advisory Whatever:** This is a non-serious fic that I threw together one day after a day of browsing made me die inside. _It has: _Crack-ish scenes, an almost obnoxiously laid-back atmosphere, beasts/being/creatures, passive-aggressive bashing of Snape and Draco Malfoy (but no one else, really), Crazy!Lily, Cheerful!Manipulative!Harry, a pinch of stalking, no concrete pairings, a sporadic update-rate, and oranges.

**A/N: **Wow, it's been a long time. It just really felt like I didn't have a free moment all of these months between work and running errands. I don't know how I even found the few hours I needed to finish this chapter that's been in the works for forever. I hope it's decent enough to excuse my hiatus, but I may not have ended it neatly. I'm out of practice...

By the way, this is something a little broad, but I was wondering about a certain type of review I keep seeing on fics I've been reading... they say something like, "Are you going to make so and so get such and such or do this like in canon!?" or, "This is okay, but that one thing you mentioned didn't happen in canon."

Um, aren't we on a fanfiction website? Of course it isn't canon, if we weren't changing anything, then we would just stick to rereading the books... these reviews baffle me a bit. I was wondering if anyone else was as bemused by them as myself.

**CHAPTER 13 - Colliding Plots**

Acacia was already seated in a compartment and staring intently out of the window exactly half an hour before the Hogwarts Express was due to pull out of the station. Her mother approved of her sense of punctuality, and Acacia didn't feel the need to tell her that she just wanted to save a spot for the group she was tentatively calling her friends. Maybe Harry really was, but he was strange and she didn't really understand him. Camellia was grouchy, so it was difficult to tell with her as well. Hermione was nice though. Just pushy, and so into books that Acacia couldn't really keep up, despite being reasonably well-read herself.

She caught a flash of snow white wings and leaned into the glass, peering hard into the crowd.

It was Hedwig, looking a little disgruntled about being in her cage. The handle at the top was held delicately in the fingers of a pretty young woman. Lily Potter, her memory supplied. The most recent picture of her was in a five year old _Daily Prophet_ edition stored in the library. Acacia studied the woman, who looked just a little older and just a little thinner in the face than the black and white photo, though that could just be the distance between them.

She patted Harry once on the back and kissed Camellia on the forehead. Next to her, James Potter did the same. Acacia smiled at the sight and propped a cheek on a fist, settled in to watching her classmates. Her parents never showed public affection. They said it could be used against them. The Potters didn't seem to care. She shook her head and scolded herself for spying on people that she wanted to be friends with. So her eyes drifted to other people. Neville Longbottom was apparently receiving a long-winded lecture from his grandmother, whose every movement caused her hulking vulture hat to bob in a very life-like and terrifying way.

She looked away quickly; that thing scared her.

Draco Malfoy was on the station as well, with his nose turned in the air just the same as both of his parents. His menacing eagle owl was glaring at everyone from its cage. With a sigh, her attention drifted back to Harry and Camellia, only to find that their parents were gone and they were headed for the train. She threw open the window and waved her arms around.

"Over here!" she yelled.

Few people looked at her, for there were other students doing the same, and just as enthusiastically as she was. She leaned out and continued calling until the twins heard her over the roar of the crowd, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she saw Harry nod. Satisfied, she shut the glass and returned to the cushioned bench. Her face was hot with some measure of embarrassment (what would her mother say?), but she felt… giddy.

Her compartment door slid open to Harry's ever-smiling face and Camellia's ever-frowning one. Both had their trunks at hand and Hedwig was shuffling grumpily around her perch.

"Mind if we join you?" Harry asked lightly.

She beamed at them. "Please, come on in!"

Helping them move their stuff into the shelves above the window she had just been flailing out of felt so natural that Acacia decided, just then, that she would declare them both friends of hers no matter how sarcastic Camellia got or what kooky things Harry got into.

"Is Hermione coming?" she asked.

"Yeah," Camellia said immediately, as if it was a given.

She made sure the space she left was extra large for the trunk Hermione had no doubt filled with tomes. Camellia was looking at her queerly—she hoped it was in a good way—and Harry was just laughing silently like he always did. She couldn't wait to ask what everyone did over break… but it was probably best to wait for their wayward friend before they got into that. Thankfully, the brunette wasn't long in joining them, lugging a large trunk and a leather bag with her.

"How was break?" Harry asked flippantly.

"Brilliant!" Hermione hurried to say. "I got a few books, good ones, and we ended up not going to France, but we did go to see some plays."

Acacia noticed that Hermione was gnawing on her lips like she wanted to say more, but the Gryffindor turned to her instead. It made her feel warm inside to be included so readily.

"My parents and I had dinner at the Fauna Flora in Eturn Alley," she told them cheerfully. "We watched the fairy light shows and spoke with family friends."

Camellia grimaced at the mention of Eturn and Acacia felt bad for speaking of the place.

"What about you?" she hastened to deflect attention from her activities in an area known to be traumatic for the Girl-Who-Lived.

"We made a snow army," Harry relished.

His sister rolled her eyes. "You were buried in an avalanche by bowtruckles."

"Who was there with me?" he retorted.

Hermione looked worried. "Were you both alright?"

"Harry melted his way out," Camellia grumbled.

"_Anyway_," Harry butted in, "we opened gifts after Christmas dinner and fought over dessert with our family."

"That sounds like fun," Acacia said. "And thank you very much for the sweets you sent, Harry. They were good."

"And thank you for the book," Hermione added happily.

Camellia said nothing, but her hands were toying with a set of hair clips that looked new. They were shaped like oranges. Acacia admired them and wondered who they were from. Hermione? The other girl was looking at the pins with a pleased expression. The mood in the cabin was a good one.

"I wonder how Blaise is doing…" Harry mused.

Acacia felt her smile freeze and slowly die away from her face as Harry's brow creased in concern. Blaise Zabini—the terrifying son-of-a-killer with the eeriest pair of eyes she had ever seen. She shuddered violently at the mere memory of him. It was like the pleasant ambiance that she had felt only a second ago had been shattered cruelly. She clasped her hands and hoped to forget about him quickly. That Harry would not speak of his somehow-friend any more.

"His stepfather was very ill and he was cooped up in the castle with Quirrell and the Weasley twins all of break," he went on. "I'm honestly a little worried."

Ah, how easily her hopes were crushed.

**-()_()_()-**

The floating candles glowed warmly around the Great Hall, casting everything in an amber radiance that reflected fluidly off of the golden platters and polished golden chalices. Friends who didn't meet on the train gathered together happily and exchanged their holiday stories. They would be grumbling about classes soon enough, but for now, the feast stole away most negative thoughts. _Most_ of them. Harry filled his plate with mashed potatoes and a generous helping of roast before deciding to comment on the glower Blaise was directing at his food.

"Did something happen?" he asked.

Blaise lifted his head to regard him. "I met your… friends."

Scattered laughter in the lively Great Hall rose around them. Harry ignored it, for once scrambling for some sort of response to that statement.

"The… Weasley twins?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes," Blaise confirmed.

"I'm sorry?" Harry offered.

Blaise's frown was replaced with a look of confusion. He turned to face Harry completely.

"What for?"

"Er… didn't they do something? You don't look happy, exactly," Harry said, toying with his fork.

Blaise shook his head slowly. "Quirrell was insufferable."

They both glanced over their shoulders at the turbaned man who was, at that moment, meekly conversing with a politely nodding Sprout. It was hard to tell all the way from the Slytherin table, but her smile looked a bit strained. With the way his hands were erratically jerking around so close to the pitcher of pumpkin juice (was it actually pumpkin juice?), combined with his never-ending stutter, Harry couldn't blame her.

"Isn't he always?" Harry asked flippantly.

"I had few distractions," Blaise explained.

Harry smirked briefly at what sounded like a veiled admission that his company had been missed, but said nothing of it.

"So what do Fred and George have to do with anything?" Harry questioned.

"They offered their friendship," was the response.

The odd way that his friend said the word 'offered' made Harry think that the conversation was not entirely voluntary and maybe even slightly embarrassing, knowing the twins. They were, at the moment, goading their younger brother into doing something. What, Harry couldn't begin to guess at. His eyes kept drifting back to the scene.

"Did you accept?" Harry asked almost absently.

Was that a rubber chicken or a sock puppet? He couldn't tell because of the angle they were standing at.

"After negotiations," Blaise answered vaguely.

"That ought to be interesting," Harry said.

Chicken or sock, it ended up in Mell's mashed potatoes, and she wasn't happy about it. Harry watched her snarl at the redheads for a moment before refocusing on Blaise.

"So what was the offer for anyway?"

He was given a bland look. Harry suddenly felt a little sheepish for letting his attention wander.

"The evisceration of Quirrell," Blaise said tonelessly.

Now was that sarcasm? Or was Blaise going to take after his mother? Harry was hit by a strong wave of amusement at the idea of Blaise marrying and assassinating their unfortunate professor, and then revulsion at the turn of his own thoughts. He was careful to force his expression into something he hoped was innocent, lest Blaise realize what he had been thinking and try to kill _him_.

"I hope it all works out well for you…" Harry trailed off, privately thinking that the idea sounded great.

But Quirrell wasn't as weak as he seemed and the act, whether they were seriously considering it or not (there was an equal chance either way), wouldn't be as easy as his friends believed. Harry's eyes narrowed pensively at his plate. He spent the rest of dinner lost in churning thoughts about their suspicious professor. Perhaps… he should see about doing his own digging.

**-()_()_()-**

The first week back passed quickly, Camellia realized. She was sitting in the Potions classroom with the Slytherins and reading Snape's spidery scrawl from the blackboard, feeling a bit disconnected from the world. Hadn't it just been the feast? The train ride on the way to it? She blinked and squinted at the ingredients, willing herself to memorize them. Wartcap powder, aloe vera, witch hazel extract, persimmon juice… were they making a burn-healing paste?

"Potter!" Snape snarled.

She jerked to attention and bit out a startled, "Yes?" in unison with Harry's much more controlled response.

There were a few quiet titters around the classroom. Snape didn't appreciate the multiple replies, it seemed, for he took a moment to glower at them both. What was his problem? He should be more specific if he only wanted the attention of one twin.

He eventually spat out, "Our_ celebrity _Potter."

Camellia didn't want to respond to that. She refused to respond to that, consequences be damned, and was on the verge of resigning herself to cauldron scrubbing for _disrespecting a professor_ when her brother spoke up.

"Yes, _sir_?" Harry asked faux-seriously.

She jerked around in her seat and saw that, behind him, Moon's face had paled in horror. Malfoy looked maniacally gleeful, along with all of his sycophants. Zabini, naturally, remained expressionless. Through the snickering of her fellow Gryffindors, Camellia heard Hermione groan softly next to her. However, her brother looked as impish as ever.

"Very amusing, Potter," Snape said darkly. "I'm sure you will still be laughing as you scrub the seventh years' cauldrons this evening. Their botched wound cleaning potions left a mess that needs some… vigorous washing."

"But those potions are abrasive!" Hermione objected.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for questioning a professor!" he snapped.

Harry looked unbothered by Snape's outburst. He almost looked pleased. They locked eyes for a second, but there was no way for her to know what he was thinking of.

"Now if _Miss_ Potter could take it upon herself to respond," Snape continued.

"Yes, Professor," she answered stiffly.

"What is the missing ingredient on the board? Answer incorrectly and you can brew without it!"

Camellia narrowed her eyes at the blackboard, feeling a little more focused than she had been earlier. She scanned the list over, confident that this was the burn-healing paste—a very basic and common potion that could, of course, go horribly wrong at any moment—and searched her memory.

"The chilled mucus of a flesh-eating slug," she offered after a few awkward seconds had passed.

Snape jabbed his wand at the board and it was added. He looked murderous.

"Now is it correct, or not?" he asked the class. "You can find out during the lesson."

Hermione opened her mouth to object once more, but snapped it shut with a click. She should have learned by now that questioning Snape's methods was useless. But she knew as well as Camellia that the answer was right. Anyone else should be able to tell just by how angry Snape was when she spoke. She stood to get her ingredients and ended up elbow to elbow with Zabini, who took a larger jar of the mucus than necessary. Harry was also in line at the cabinets. In the bustle of the crowd, she watched her brother's friend slip the liter bottle into his robes. Zabini glanced at her and walked away with a bowl of witch hazel and a couple empty vials. Harry passed her with a smile, holding on to a tray with the rest of the needed ingredients, as well as the appropriate amount of flesh-eating slug mucus.

Were they planning to sabotage someone with that giant jar?

Camellia pursed her lips and hoped to Merlin that her brother and his friend weren't that crazy.

**-()_()_()-**

"What's wrong?" Hermione hissed.

Camellia's eyes had flickered over to Harry at least four times in as many minutes. Her brow was creased in agitation and her preparation of the ingredients was distracted. Hermione had looked over as well, out of curiosity, but saw nothing amiss. Just Harry smiling candidly at Blaise Zabini and skillfully stirring his potion. Camellia shook her head and added the witch hazel. There were just a few steps left until it was time to add the persimmon juice and let it boil. She reminded her friend of this, and was taken aback when Camellia scowled.

"Sorry," she backtracked. "You just look tired…"

"It's not you," Camellia grumbled.

Hermione turned the heat up once the ladle was removed and threw in the wartcap powder. They watched the fluid slowly fade from a murky brownish-black into burnt sienna. The addition of persimmon would turn it florescent orange and give it a bit of a glow.

"We can add it now, right?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah…"

Hermione poured it in and sat down to watch it work. Camellia was looking at Harry again. Her fists were clenched. She still didn't see what was wrong. Harry was just picking up his bottle of juice to add. She looked back to the cauldron she was sharing with Camellia, pleased to see the luminescent color. The bubbling potion reminded her of Halloween. She admired it as it cooled, clutching the ladle in one hand and a jar in the other. Camellia busied herself with cleaning their workstation.

"Turn in your jars of paste," Snape told them.

The class hastened to obey, filling his desk in short order with lines of jars of various shades of orange. Hermione winced when she saw Neville's burnt pumpkin hued sludge, though she optimistically noted that it hadn't exploded this time. The bell for the end of the period rang through the classroom. No one wasted any time in escaping.

"What was wrong during class?" Hermione asked her friend once they were several hallways away.

Camellia shook her head. "Nothing, really. It was stupid."

"Harry's detention?" Hermione prodded.

"He looked happy to have gotten it," Camellia grumbled. "He's probably planning something ridiculous again, so I don't feel sorry for him at all."

There was an adamant look on Camellia's face as she stalked down the hall. Hermione had to jog to keep up with her fast pace, and was feeling a little winded after the first staircase. Exercise had taken a backseat to studying lately, and the time spent enjoying the company of her parents meant that she hadn't gotten anything done over break. In contrast, Camellia didn't look phased in the slightest. She hadn't even broken a sweat.

"I thought I was fit," Hermione huffed.

Camellia blinked, looking bewildered.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

Hermione weathered the queer stare until her friend dismissed the out of the blue complaint and they continued on their way outside to the greenhouses, squinting against the harsh afternoon sun. After two hours in the windowless dungeon, the glare was painful. Their Gryffindor peers were similarly affected, though the Hufflepuffs now joining them had no such adjustments to make.

"Well, time to go," Camellia sighed.

She spared one last glance toward the castle, which made Hermione think that she wasn't as unconcerned about Harry as she claimed, before taking off for Herbology with a pace even faster than before. She resolved to get more exercise in, one way or another, as she was forced to jog yet again.

**-()_()_()-**

The smell of the potent cleaning solution burned Harry's nose and the taste of it settled in his throat. Combining this discomfort with the raw burning of his hands and the heavy weight of Snape's glare, it was no stretch to say that he wasn't in the best position. However, he smiled blandly and methodically scrubbed the crusted cauldrons. More abrasive than the potions was the special cauldron cleaning mixture and Harry was not allowed to wear gloves in this detention. It was worth it, he figured, to calm some of his raging curiosity, even if he was not the one doing the investigating.

It was as easy as he thought it would be to get a detention from the sallow professor, and he got to deflect the man's attention away from his sister for a little while. Snape had been too busy watching him all of class to bother her again. Too busy watching him to notice that Blaise had stolen a large jar of mucus from the cabinet for his own use, even.

It was only eight. Harry glanced over to the stack of cauldrons to his left as he rinsed out the one in his hands. It was the third one cleaned. There were still nine more. Knowing that the advanced classes were smaller, Harry had been worried about the length of time it would take to finish, but it seemed like he would be able to make the detention last long enough for his friends to get somewhere. His mind turned to Hermione and Mell. Not for the first time that night, he wondered if he should have included them in his plotting. Not for the first time that night, he told himself that it was better not to, for now. The less people involved, the less likely it was that they would be caught.

Still, he remembered his mother's rants about the dangers of withholding information, and silently promised that he would tell the girls about Quirrell as soon as he finished his investigations.

**-()_()_()-**

Blaise put his lips to Harry's flute and played a simple tune. True to his friend's assurances, Fluffy began to nod off. The canine was fast asleep within minutes, leaving the trap door vulnerable. The twins moved swiftly, casting a series of lock-picking spells until it clicked open. They lifted the heavy wooden entrance with little difficulty and lit their wands, peering into the passageway below. Blaise inched over and looked down into a seemingly bottomless pit, never pausing from his song.

The twins silently unrolled a ladder from one of their satchels and fastened it securely to the stone floor with sticking charms and conjured weights. Blaise took it upon himself to sit on the pile, just for good measure. His repetitive children's tune continued, though he was sorely tempted to follow the redheads down into that darkness. Harry couldn't come at all, after all, having decided to act as the distraction. The Weasley twins were excellent at breaking and entering, so even though they could get a detention with just as much ease, they were ultimately more useful in getting into the secret room beneath the trap door.

Harry was certain, based partly on his experience and based partly on a hunch, that Quirrell wanted something from his room.

And if Quirrell wanted it, then Blaise didn't want him to have it.

A note came out sharp from his lapse in attention and he hastened to start the song again when he heard the hellhound snort. He struggled against the bubbling impatience in his chest for another long minute before on of the redheads surfaced again. With his wand, he drew a flaming sentence in the air.

_There's devil's snare down there. If we go through, someone will know._

The other twin climbed out as soon as the first cleared the ladder, and once everything they brought was cleared, they locked the trapdoor behind them. Though disappointed by the decision to retreat, Blaise was curious as to what Harry might take out of their minimal investigation. Was there even anything to take from it? Or was it a waste of time?

He had the feeling that Harry would find something to pick out.

**-()_()_()-**

Harry set a fast pace to the Slytherin dorms, intent on getting to bed as soon as possible. It was rare for him to be so tired, but the long hours in Snape's presence, inhaling powerful fumes, exhausted his mind and body. It was worth it, though. The twins were skeptical of what little they were able to find out from their baby steps into the dark enclosure behind the door, but Harry had a gut feeling that there was something, no matter how small, that could be gleaned from their efforts. No effort was a wasted one, in his mind. However, his mind was not in the right state to be considering anything. The harsh chemicals had taken their toll. He had thought that he could handle whatever Snape threw at him with ease after years of helping his mother, but found this to be untrue. Harry blinked, hard, in a vain attempt to work his eyes and stumbled over nothing. Blaise grabbed his shoulder to steady him. Neither of them spoke in order to preserve the secrecy of the invisibility cloak. After a brief pause, they continued on.

"Effervescence," Blaise murmured.

They passed through the stone wall in the falsely dead end passageway and came into the Slytherin common room. Blaise slipped out by his door and entered, nodding in a silent bid good night. Harry continued to his own bed, too tired to climb into the hammock suspended from the ceiling. He could consider what the twins told him about the room behind the trapdoor when he had his energy back. With a long, hard yawn, Harry fell onto his blankets and curled up in his prized family heirloom. He fell into sleep not long after.

"Harry Potter…"

Quirrell stepped out of a shadow, eyes flat and empty. The voice that came from his mouth was not his own. It was high and inhuman, somewhat raspy, even.

"Harry Potter…"

Quirrell's jaw unhinged like a snake before its meal, allowing a large green cobra to exit his abnormally expanded maw. The serpent was long, so long that it seemed to never end. It flared its hood and bared its fangs, ready with venom. Shining red eyes glared at him with palpable malice, killer intent.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry flinched awake and struggled momentarily before remembering where he was. His body flopped back down onto his mattress and he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom through the filter of his silver cloak. He was a little annoyed to feel the cold sweat on his skin and the way that his heart was beating rapidly.

"What was that?" he asked no one.

He untangled himself slowly, mind racing to keep the dream fresh as it slipped from his memory like water through a sieve. It was an ominous nightmare about Quirrell, that much he knew, but everything else had faded fast. To think that the professor's machinations would disturb him so much that he would carry into his sleep. Harry sighed in frustration, ran a hand through his hair, and got up to get ready for breakfast.

The adventure was going to get a little more dangerous, he felt, and the girls needed to know that Quirrell wasn't what he seemed to be.


End file.
